She delicately checked the perfection of the pink bow in her hair. Keychain jingling, she nervously stood behind the belt barrier. There was a girlish fluttering in the pit of her stomach that made her restlessly shift her weight from this foot to the other and check her watch every few seconds. The doors only needed to slide open and a week of patience would be paid off, but for some inexplicable reason, these last few minutes separating them from each other were probably one of the most frustrating in her life, and that was saying something considering her department head.
And then suddenly there was a chime and her phone lit up cheerfully to show her a picture of the baggage carousel.
Her heart leapt into her throat; he was almost out!
She glanced herself over one last time. She’d tried her best to put an outfit together that fit the pink bow, but because she wore one in public so rarely, it had been somewhat difficult. She wondered if she should have worn the cashmere dress instead. Maybe that would have looked better. But it made her feel so exposed, especially with that cut-out. Not to mention how it wasn’t exactly the most professional dress. The blouse and blazer at least hadn’t earned her as many looks as the dress would have, though the pink ribbon in her hair certainly had gotten her a couple quizzical double-takes. Not that she could blame her students. A pretty pink bow was out of left field for her; as well-dressed as she was, the overly feminine rarely made an appearance on her person. But her husband liked it, and she liked to entertain his whims even when she knew it would distract her students from the day’s lecture. Oh, well. They could always ask their friends later on. That is, if their friend had been paying enough attention to write any notes down. But that wasn’t exactly her fault if they hadn’t, now was it? She had fulfilled her end of the deal. It was up to them to fulfill theirs.
Brimming with anticipation, she tried not to chew on her nails like she always did when something made her nervous, when suddenly, an arm slipped around her waist.
C.C. blinked as her husband hugged her tightly.
“You smell nice,” were his muffled words. She smiled. He always thought she smelled nice even when she didn’t really. His little rose, he would call her. She looped her arms around his waist as he bent down. She eagerly returned the long awaited kiss.
“I missed you,” he said softly.
She told him that she had missed him too as she looked up at him, starry eyed. He looked worn but happy, and she was glad to see he was as excited as she was by their reunion.
“I hope you’ve been eating properly since I left.” He tilted her chin up. “You look a little wan.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know. You just make me want to look after you. Be a better man and all that.”
She snorted at the endless stream of clichés but offered no other complaint than a gently pinched cheek.
“Just make sure to look after yourself first. How can you expect to take care of me if you’re sick?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her cheekily. She buried her own smile in his chest as he laughed.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“Thank you.” He sighed contentedly. “It’s good to be back.”
And there was no denying that it was.