Lunch Date

I wiggle impatiently outside the deli, wishing I had taped quarters to my skirt. It's not even noon, but the sun beats down on my shoulders and sweat runs down my back. I pace back in forth, pretending to ignore the bakers watching me through the store front windows.

Then, he pulls up. I see the great smile, the stubbly cheeks. We go in and order and sit at the same table we sit at every week. We listen to the TV news woman with way too much make up trashing Hillary Clinton and whine about gas prices. I tell him about work and all my great writing plans. He smiles and cracks jokes, occasionally telling me a story from his job. He gobbles up his sausage and jalapeno kolaches, lining up the empty mustard packets in a straight line.

As we munch on our paninis, all we do is smile and laugh. There are no chores here, no puppies causing mischief. The worries of work lay outside the door. In the deli, there are crisp paninis and enormous white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.

Finally, after a few giggles, we throw our mess away. Normally, we come back home to the puppies. But today, he goes home and I go back to work. A quick kiss and hug and I'm back weaving through traffic and crazy people. But as I dodge speeding trucks and hyped up mothers in minivans, I can still taste the cookie in my mouth and feel my lips beaming.

It happens once a week.