Chapter 25 - Who Wouldn't Love You?

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August 1942

On the way home from work, Jonathon had to resist the urge to tell James to drive faster. With his arms crossed across his chest, he stared out the window, not seeing the passing forests as he tried to contain his anxiousness. He couldn't wait to be home with Helen, and each second James took to get him there was a precious second wasted.

He thought he'd been happily in love with Helen before, but life with her now was so much better than anything he could have imagined. The last few weeks had been pure bliss, and after sharing the most intimate moments with her, his feelings for her had grown and become more intense. He knew it was probably a cliché to say it, but he was deeply, madly in love with her.

He shook his head and smiled. How could it be possible to feel so strongly about a woman? When he was with her, he felt intoxicated, and the time he spent away from her was agony. No matter what he was doing during the day, she was never far from his mind. Often, he would find himself reliving their nights together, or wishing desperately he was with her. And that's exactly what was wrong with James taking so long. Hurry up, he thought angrily, tapping his foot on the car's floor.

To his delight Helen opened the front door when James pulled up to the house. She must have been waiting for him, and it made his heart swell. She was just as anxious to see him as he was to see her.

"Hello," he said with a big smile as he climbed the front steps.

"Hi, Johnny," she said, her face practically glowing.

When he stepped on the porch, he looped his arm around her waist and she put her arms around his neck as he kissed her. "How was your day?"

She smiled up at him, her arms still looped around his neck. "It was good." She gave him another peck on the lips and then took his briefcase as they went into the house. "I planned something for us tonight, something fun. At least, I hope you'll think it's fun."

"Oh?" he said as he handed his fedora to her. "That sounds interesting."

She put his hat in the closet. "First, let me get your drink."

He took the day's mail off the nearby table and followed her into grand parlor, taking a seat on a couch as she continued to the bar cabinet.

"It seems silly that Annie puts so much work into cooking and serving dinner when it's just the two of us," she said, pouring a measure of whiskey into a glass.

"That's what I pay her for."

"I know," she said, bringing his glass to him. "But I want to cook for you." She sat on the couch beside him. "I'm your wife. That's what wives do."

"I don't know if I like that idea," he said, leaning back and putting his arm around her shoulders as she snuggled up to him. "When I'm home, I like being able to relax with you. If you're in the kitchen–"

"No, I want you to come in the kitchen with me. That's where we're going to eat."

"In the kitchen?" he said loudly. "You expect us to eat in the kitchen?"

"Sure, why not?"

"That's where children eat, not adults," he said firmly.

Her mouth dropped open. "I've eaten in kitchens my whole life!" she said indignantly.

"The Moore's ate in their kitchen?"

"Well, no," she hedged. "But my family did, most families do."

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