I slowly walked to the two antique country doors that belonged to the kitchen of the medium-sized home. My spaghetti-strapped evening dress was sliding down my right shoulder a little. I pulled the strap up and sighed, feeling the cold air condition breeze hitting my leg through the slit of my long dress. I smiled and opened the doors. The little country kitchen looked exceptionally beautiful. It looked like a down-home, Southern kitchen.

The table at the right of the room had a white silk tablecloth on it, two long, lit candlesticks on each side, two plates filled with pasta on each side, and a glass of wine on each side. The lights were dimmed, and everything looked perfect.

"Sweetie?" I called. "Where are you? Trying to find forks and spoons?"

He stepped from around the cabinet and smiled. "Hi." he said, warmly and softly. "You look so beautiful tonight."

"Likewise." I whispered.

He was wearing a pair of somewhat tight khaki pants, a button-up, long-sleeved navy blue shirt, and black loafers. His rich, curly brown hair seemed to shimmer under the dimmed light. Not only were his full pink lips smiling, his crystal blue eyes had a sparkling gleam.

He put the forks and spoons on the table, walked over, and kissed my cheek.

"Why did you ask me to wear this for dinner?" I asked. Besides the evening dress, I was wearing high-heeled sandals and had my hair pulled atop my head.

"Well, you're a celebrity, I'm a celebrity. I figure celebrities need to look good, even if they're at home, by themselves, having dinner together." He licked his lips as I laughed.

"You ALWAYS look good. I, on the other hand, very rarely." I said, sitting down in my chair. He pushed the chair in.

"Give me a break. " He scoffed.

I took a deep smell of the pasta. I had no clue what kind it was, but it smelled delicious. It had a load of cheese, and smelled as though there were spoonfuls after spoonfuls of tomato sauce.

He sat in his chair, then reached his left hand across the table. His hand was soft, and creamy white, like silk as he took my hand.

"How long have we been dating?" I teased.

"Don't play that with me, honey. You know EXACTLY how long." He smiled bigger, his high cheekbones rising smoothly.

"Eight months." I whispered, rubbing his hand. "But it's felt like a lifetime."

"Or two, but who's counting?" He chuckled as I looked up into his eyes. "I know exactly what you mean, sweetheart."

"Well, are we going to eat dinner, dear, or are we going to stare at each other all night?" I wondered.

"We can do both." he said. "But only after this." He leaned across the table and gently kissed my lips. "Now we can eat."