The Doorway

She knew he'd come.  He said he'd be there at 5, and she trusted him completely.  And sure enough, she could see through the window that he was walking down the street.  She looked at the clock.  4:58.  Two minutes early.  His suit was dark, his shirt pressed.  His sunglasses exuded cool.  The bouquet of pink peonies in his hand and the paper bag filled with groceries in the other told her he came prepared.  She saw him turn onto the steps.

She didn't wait for the doorbell, but met him at the door, a smile on her face.

The sunglasses couldn't hide the shyness about his demeanor.  "I hope I remembered everything," he said in a breathless whisper.  "I couldn't decide between lilies or roses or daffodils, so I went with what the saleslady suggested.  I think she could tell I was nervous.  And I could only find French bread instead of garlic bread.  And they didn't have any ice.  I couldn't remember if you had ice."  His words tumbled out of his mouth. He looked helpless.

"We have ice.  French bread will work perfectly.  The flowers are beautiful.  Mom will love them.  And I have the perfect vase for them too.  Come on.  Let's get started."  She pulled him by the hand into the kitchen, where he could see she'd already gotten started.  A pot on the stove smelled delicious.  He couldn't remember what was supposed to be in it, but whatever it was, he wanted some.  She seemed so calm and collected.  He wondered how it was possible that someone could be calm on a night like this.

"Mom said she'd be home at 7, so we should have plenty of time to get everything ready.  And I know she doesn't suspect a thing.  She's been so preoccupied with that Marshall project down on 5th and Amherst that that's all she can think about.  Oh, she thinks about you, too, of course, but I really think tonight will be the perfect surprise."  She looked back to find him still standing in the doorway.  Wow, she thought.  He must really love her.  She smiled and went back to work.