The bathroom door opens right after I am done clipping my belt. Leilani's flowery shampoo fills the room instantly, masking my senses as if I'm not already used to smelling her.
I look away from the mirror just in time to witness her ruffling her curly hair, which is still glossy from the bath.
"You smell good," I mutter, almost subconsciously. I've made it a tradition to compliment her every time I feel like it, and now the practice has grown on me.
"Says the guy whose cologne is fighting off the oxygen in the house."
I chuckle at her reply, planting a kiss on her forehead and leaving her to blow-dry her hair in peace. Living with her made me realize she loves her personal space at certain times, and to be honest, I do too. Especially when I'm busy.
A swift, almost non-existent breeze sweeps past my face from the open windows as I make my way to the bed where my pink tie is—a fitting for my outfit for the day which was planned by Leilani, or should I say, my wife?
