Known

One of Mama's own aprons around my neck, I chopped chicken for the casserole dish and stirred the sauce, singing boldly the words to an old hymn.

I may even have thrown in a twirl or two, because suddenly I saw him across the room, book lowered from his eyes and a smile on his bearded face.

Song faded and I paused in mid-sashay. I'm sorry, you're trying to read!

And he lowered his book further, looking seriously into my eyes.

You are always more interesting to me than any book.

And lashes fluttered and little stars appeared in my eyes and slow blush crept up my cheekbones.

High praise, indeed. My beloved surely knows me well.

More interesting than a book.

Goodness, but I am loved.