**

Here's where my day gets better: I walk in the door and he's there.

He's sitting at one of the computers, doing I don't care what. Whatever it is, it's not important, not as important, because he looks up and gives me that lopsided grin. I smile back. It's tired, but that never matters. That grin of his never fails to get an answer from me.

"Hey, Johnny," he says, happy to see me. "You look fried," he comments, an understatement. "Bad day?"

I turn to hang up my jacket, and those long fingers are on my tie all of a sudden, loosening it as he nuzzles my neck from behind. I sigh and lean into him.

"The Department of Licensing is a madhouse," I tell him. "I'd have been ashamed to give anyone that kind of service. I spent three hours going from floor to floor, from window to window, all to renew the business license."

As I'm recounting my woes, he's guiding me up the stairs, tugging me across to the couch, pulling me down to sit with him, putting both arms around me, encouraging me to keep talking with little noises of understanding.

"And then I was late to the meet with the guys from Review. I barely made it there in time, and then I realized Mel gave me the wrong notes this morning, so I ended up working from memory. I don't even remember what I said, I just hope I didn't give away any scoops." I take a deep breath.

"And on the way home, the van broke down and I got oil all over my pants trying to fix it and I eventually had to call AAA and they got it started again and I don't want to talk about it anymore," I finish wearily.

"Johnny," he says into my ear, "I'm glad you're home." And then he does his best to prove it.

My day? Just got better.

-end-

Back to the Black Mailbox Stories.

Back to Stories Index