He always looks in his element when he comes directly from the office, with his dark gray dress pants and white dress shirt. Today, he's added a light blue tie, and even though he's not at work anymore, he still hasn't loosened it—it’s yet another detail showcasing Steve's unwavering poise. It's just as unlikely to see him with a hair out of place as it is seeing him lose his temper. It just doesn't happen. I've always thought that he's a perfectionist, both with his physical appearance and his general attitude and emotional control.
I run his tie between my fingers, knowing he'll still my hands before long. But he's not always so forthcoming with his vows of love anymore, so I want to appreciate this moment while I have it. Placing my hand on the side of his face when he starts to reach for his tie, I brush my thumb over his beautiful cheekbones, studying his open and honest expression.
"I love you," I say softly. "I love our life. I love that I get to live with my best friend and hang out with you every night." Leaning forward, I press a sweet kiss to his lips, sighing when he gently cups my face and kisses me back.
He stays close even after he ends the kiss. Instead of pulling away, he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine with a sated smile.
Steve's always needed more affection than I do. Early in our relationship, it caused a little bit of a rift between us because he didn't understand how a girl couldn't want to be touching all the time. He thought my not wanting to hold his hand in public was a reflection of my feelings for him. In reality, I grew up in a family where physical affection wasn't common or needed to feel loved. Neither my parents nor my sister are huggers and we never said 'I love you' growing up. There was nothing wrong with my family or my childhood, we just weren't touchy people.
It took a while for Steve to come to terms with that. Secretly, I think he still feels there's something wrong with us, but he's gotten to the point where he doesn't bring it up anymore. Or at least, not often.
So, I stand there and wait for him to drink up as much of my closeness as he needs. Eventually, he sighs and pulls away.
"When will dinner be done?" he asks as he looks over at the chicken on the stovetop. He reaches to unknot his tie.
"About twenty minutes." Then I notice the flowers on the counter again and grin. "You got me flowers?"
He turns toward me as he drapes his tie around his neck. "I did. I told you, I missed you today, so I wanted to show you how much. Do you like them?"
I lift the colorful bouquet off the counter and close my eyes, inhaling their scent. "I love them," I sigh. I lean toward him to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, that was sweet."
Steve hands me the vase from one of the cabinets. As he walks down the hallway to our bedroom, he calls over his shoulder, "I'm going to get changed and then play a little bit of Call of Duty with the guys. Let me know when dinner is ready."
"Okay," I respond as I begin to trim the flower stems. I've never understood his fascination with video games, but I know better now than to ask. His usual argument is that it's his outlet, like mine is reading, saying that both are stress relievers and make for a good escape from the day-to-day. Which I can't really argue with. But on top of that, his friends are so “busy” that they don’t get together very often. This is their way of staying in touch once a week.
It's not like Steve is constantly gaming or ignoring me when he shouldn't be, so I don't really have a good argument against it. Even if I do think it's odd that a 29-year-old, successful financial advisor enjoys shooting CGI characters in his spare time.
I sauté the spinach as the chicken finishes cooking, stripping my sweater off when I start to get hot. Then I set the little table in the corner of our kitchen and crack a beer for Steve, because after six months of living together, I know he likes to wind down at the end of the day—even if he doesn’t like it whenIdrink. After I've fixed us each a plate, I call into the living room, "Dinner's ready."
"Thanks, babe. I'll be there in a minute," he calls back.
When he walks into the kitchen ten minutes later, he presses a quick kiss to my cheek. "This looks great."
I smile in answer. We're quiet as we dig into our meal, both of us too distracted by the delicious food to start chatting about our day.
"Is it good?" I eventually ask Steve after he's silent for several minutes. His mouth full, he simply nods.
I try again to get him to engage with me. "How was your day?"
At that, he finally pulls his gaze away from his near-empty plate to focus it on me. "It was good. Long. I worked this account with Tony today, so of course the day dragged. I’m all for detailed research before a client meeting, but his level is over the top, even for me. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m an idiot, or if he’s just used to working with idiots.” He rolls his eyes, and I know what’s going to come out of his mouth before he even says it. “Although, most of these people are. I don’t know how half of them do their jobs.”
I awkwardly push the spinach around on my plate. Along with Steve's poise comes a general sense of superiority, at a level that's always made me a touch uncomfortable. God knows as a woman, I understand venting about people, but I'm also of the firm belief that if it's constant, then it's probably you.
I don't tell him that, though. Instead, I let him continue to vent about his day while I stand up to pour a glass of wine for myself.
"I still don't understand how Tony got hired," he continues. "He barely gets through the prep work, and half the time, he doesn’t even handle the client’s finances right. There's no way he got the job without pulling someone's strings."
Steve pauses his rant when I sit down and take a sip of my wine. His eyes narrow at the glass in my hand. He doesn't say anything, but I see his lip curl in distaste before he turns back to eating his dinner.
I feel a flush rise in my cheeks, then push the drink away from me. In an attempt to get him talking again, I ask, “So did you get the client squared away today, then? How’d the meeting with them go?”
He pushes the remaining chicken around on his plate, letting my questions hang in the air before eventually answering simply, "It went fine. It was just me today."
I squirm in my seat at the clear tone change in our conversation. I hate that most of our dinner conversations go like this, with me trying to pull him out of his shell to talk to me, and him all but ignoring me. It’s rare that the joy he typically walks in with lasts throughout our dinner. And I can never figure outwhy.
In a last-ditch effort to get him to talk to me about something positive, I plaster a smile on my face and say, "So Maggie and her boyfriend got back from that all-inclusive resort in Mexico yesterday that we were looking at. She said it was amazing. We should definitely think about booking a few days down there this winter. You've been working so hard, you deserve a nice vacation."
Steve chugs half of his beer before responding. He shoots another glare at my drink before focusing back on me. "Didn't you say you've been to Mexico already?"