I stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at the man standing near the sink. He wore a simple gray shirt and casual trousers, and water dripped from his wet hands. Most wealthy men would buy their wives expensive diamond necklaces or luxury cars to show affection on a honeymoon. Mason walked to a local village market at dawn to buy a heavy bag of white flour just so I could practice my hobbies.
He remembered a brief conversation we had weeks ago, and he took my humble dream of owning a restaurant very seriously.
I walked across the cool tiled floor and stopped right in front of him. I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his cotton shirt. He did not hesitate to return the physical affection. He dried his hands on a nearby towel, and he hugged me back. We stood in the quiet kitchen for a long minute, listening to the ocean waves crash against the rocks outside the window.
