Disclaimer: I own nothing but a deep sadness about the strike.  And a cat.

He packs a lunch for her the morning after.

From her bedroom she can hear cabinet doors closing and brown bags being opened.  She clasps her necklace (after three tries with shaky hands) and forces herself to take a few steadying breaths.  She hasn’t been this excited to be up at this hour since the morning of his first day back.  Her stomach was in knots back then, too, but for entirely different reasons.  It feels like a lifetime ago now.

She can’t help but smile when she walks into her kitchen and sees him peering into the refrigerator, taking in the different flavors of yogurt with a bemused look on his face.  After a few seconds he finds what he’s looking for and closes the door.  He stands there, rooted to the floor, and examines the small plastic container as if it’s an artifact he’s just uncovered.

“I’ve never seen anyone so fascinated by a yogurt container before.”

A smile breaks out across his face as he turns slowly towards her.

“I’ve been fascinated by your yogurt containers for years.  I just never imagined how much they would change my life.”

She bites her bottom lip and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.  Even in her tiny kitchen, he’s suddenly too far away from her.

"And ‘yogurt containers’ is not a euphemism, by the way.”

It takes three steps to reach him, reach for him.  She kisses him, in the middle of her kitchen, on a warm June morning.  He wraps his arms around her and she leans easily into him.  He’s warm and strong and tastes like her toothpaste. 

She smiles against his mouth and sighs.