Free The Coach House by Florence Osmund

asked you to tell me everything about yourself…warts and all, and you said I already knew the important stuff.”
    “And you asked me to tell you the unimportant stuff, like that I don’t always remember to put the toilet seat down, and you told me that was important.”
    Marie laughed. “You’re doing well on that one by the way, but draping the wet dish rag over the kitchen faucet…”
    “That’s a wart?”
    “That’s a wart.”
    Marie headed to the kitchen to start preparing the salad when the ringing phone caused her to stop midway in the hall.
    “Hello.” There was a minute of silence before Richard said in a low voice, “I can’t talk right now.” And then he hung up the phone.
    “Who was that, hon?”
    “Nobody important. I’m going to check on the lasagna. Is the salad ready?”
    “You know when you do that, it only makes me suspicious.”
    Richard looked her right in the eye. “There’s nothing to be suspicious about, Marie. It was Jack Clancy from work. He’s trying to hone in on my Fiefield project in the worst way. Now the bastard’s calling me at home, and I don’t appreciate it. Alright?” He knew she didn’t like it when he used foul language. She didn’t respond.
    They ate in the dining room on the massive cherry table Richard had had in his bachelor days. Six chairs fit around it comfortably, and two others flanked each side of the buffet. He lit candles and poured each of them a glass of wine. Harry James warbled in the background.
     
    Imagine me with my head on your shoulder
    And you with your lips getting bolder
    A sky full of moon and a sweet mellow tune
    I’ll buy that dream
    “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry.”
    “I know.”
     
    A honeymoon in Cairo, in a brand new autogyro
    Then off to Rio for a drink
    We’ll settle down in Dallas
    In a little plastic palace
    Oh it’s not as crazy as you think
    He walked over to her and hugged her. Marie heaved an audible sigh.
    “Was that a good sigh or a bad one?”
    “A little of both I think,” she admitted.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I know.”
    They separated, and Marie retreated to the living room. Richard stayed in the kitchen. She heard the side door slam shut and then silence. A minute passed. Still no noise from the kitchen. She waited another whole minute. What is he doing?
    Richard emerged through the front door. He had a flower in his hand. He leaned over his wife and put it in her hair, and then kissed her nose. “You look beautiful tonight.”
    She couldn’t help but smile. “Richard, you have GOT to stop stealing the neighbor’s flowers.”
    As they tidied up the kitchen together, Richard purposely brushed up against her every chance he could, trying to reenact their first lasagna dinner from a year earlier. Marie played the game by quickly stepping out of his way each time to avoid his contact, the bottom of her silky dress swishing around her legs with every step.
    “You realize it was that kind of movement that caught my eye the first time I laid eyes on you.” They laughed and retreated to the living room, sitting down next to each other on the sofa. He put his arm around her and massaged her neck with his strong fingers. She leaned back into his arm and turned her head until her eyes met his. She loved moments like this. She pictured them a few years forward doing the same thing while a baby cooed in a bassinet nearby. “I love you, Mr. Marchetti.”
    “I love you, too.” The phone rang, again interrupting them. “I’m not going to answer it.”
    After ten rings, Marie started to get up to answer the phone.
    “Just leave it ring. It’s probably something related to work, and they need to stop calling me in the evening.”
    Marie got up. “Or it could be for me,” she said dryly.
    “Hello?”
    Richard sat on the edge of the sofa while Marie concentrated on what the caller had to say. “He can’t come to the phone right now. Can I give him a message?”
    She stared at Richard. “Okay.