Searching for a Someone

Part 4- Paul

Hey y'all! This is most likely the last part of Searching for a Someone that I'll be posting, unless I suddenly feel inspired with another character's story, but for now I don't forsee that happening.  But I hope you enjoy this last part, because I really do :)

So, enjoy! Please vote and comment!

Kay

PS. All multimedia (Cover photo, side photos) was done for me by NiaMartin.  Go check out her stories! Go! Go!

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                The morning of New Year’s Eve I awoke with my wife Faith cradled in my arms.  I blinked a few times to get the sleep out of my eyes and glanced at the clock.  Seven thirty; not bad considering that during the week we both had to wake up at five thirty to get to work on time.

                I ran my hand up Faith’s side—the hill of her hip and the valley of her waist—and was reminded, as I was constantly, of what a lucky man I was.  I leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the back of her shoulder.

                Faith made a quiet noise and then rolled over so that she was facing me.  “Good morning, love,” she said to me, bringing her hand up and running her fingers through my hair.  “Your hair is sticking up in twenty different directions this morning,” she told me as she smoothed it down.

                I watched her intently.  The curve of her naked shoulder and slender neck, her petite pink mouth and big, slumberous blue eyes.

                “What are you thinking?” She asked, looking into my eyes.

                “That I am the luckiest man on earth because I have the most beautiful wife,” I answered truthfully, taking my hand from her waist and using it to brush her hair back from her face.

                Faith smiled.  “And I am the luckiest woman.”  She brought herself closer to me and pressed her mouth to mine.  I felt her lips smile as I pulled her hips to mine and our bodies rubbed together.  But she pulled away.  “None of that right now,” she scolded.  “I have a doctor’s appointment at nine.”

                “You kill me, Faith Christine,” I teased her.

                She rolled over and hopped out of bed.  “Stop being such a drama king, Paul,” she laughed, hitting my foot playfully.  She walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and I heard the shower start a moment later.

                After a few minutes of laziness I felt motivated enough to get out of bed.  I pulled on a pair of sweats and walked downstairs to our kitchen.  We had filled our coffee pot with grounds the night before, so I simply pressed the start button before walking outside to grab the newspaper from its spot on our driveway.  The clear sky promised a beautiful, if cold, day ahead.  A perfect way to end the year.

                Back inside, I took eggs and cheese, pepper and ham out of our fridge and started the stove.  Faith was, at the moment, on an egg kick: every morning all she wanted was eggs prepared one way or another, so I tried to make them for her if I had the time.  It made her happy when I did, and that was enough incentive for me.

                I whipped up the eggs and began to make an omelet, then poured myself a cup of coffee.  As the caffeine coursed through my system I heard Faith walk down the stairs.  She entered the kitchen and I told her, “Coffee’s brewed, an omelet is almost ready.”