She was in her own world, a world of flavors, of textures, of quiet, unassuming, beautiful creativity. She had not heard me come in, and for a moment, I just stood there, watching her, my heart so full of a love, a gratitude, a sheer, unadulterated, beautiful wonder that it felt like it was going to burst.
She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And she was mine. I walked up behind her, my arms wrapping around her waist, my chin resting on her shoulder.
She jumped, a small, startled, beautiful gasp, and then she relaxed into my embrace, her body a warm, soft, comforting presence against mine, the gentle, beautiful curve of her spine fitting perfectly against my chest, her scent, a mixture of a vanilla, a cinnamon, and a something uniquely, beautifully, intoxicatingly Emma, filling my senses.
"You're home," she whispered, her voice a soft, warm, beautiful melody. I kissed her neck, my lips lingering on her soft, warm, beautiful skin.
