I'm more than prepared to wake up alone the next morning, but when I feel something solid pressed against my back, I realize my mistake. I carefully adjust myself, rolling over so I can get a clear view of the man beside me. My heart accelerates instantly. He looks so relaxed and at peace. The lines of stress I've begun to notice on his face are absent. In their place are smooth edges and strong definition. I realize at that moment just how attractive he is.

Sometimes, when you're around someone constantly, they lose that dazzling effect. Their once butterfly-inducing laugh and depth-filled eyes no longer spark that need to gain their attention anymore. It's true what they say, that you only want what you don't have. It's also true that distance makes the heart grow fonder. I've realized, just in these thirty seconds that I've lain watching Seth sleep, that I'm experiencing both of those sensations simultaneously.

Though things between Seth and I seem to be gradually improving, we've still got miles between us. I've been working on closing that gap, but my attempts seem futile. He's not responding the way I'd hoped. I thought by now he'd have found desire again. I thought he'd discover his undying love for me pulsing endlessly through his blood. I thought he'd take me in his arms and declare never to break my heart again.

And yet, I remain broken.

His smiles and subtle kindnesses over the past few days have been a temporary balm over my aching wounds, but it never lasts. He's still so distant and reserved. He doesn't want me in, and I can't figure out why. Why's he so against fixing us? Why's he so content with keeping our marriage in such a state of disarray?

I glance over at him again, happy to continue staring at his flawlessness until the sun burns out, but something catches my eye. My heart stops beating. It almost feels as if it's launched its way up my esophagus because for some reason I can't breathe. Something's blocking my ability to pull air into my lungs.

Right there, sitting on his bedside table is a glass of water—not typically such a big deal—but, what has my lungs and chest constricting in confusion are the little ice cubes floating at the top. Ice doesn't take that long to melt, and there's only one reason they wouldn't have yet.

It's a fresh glass of ice water.

I could be blowing this out of proportion, but it seems to me that Seth actually got out of bed a few minutes ago for water and then actually returned. If he was really as repulsed by me as I assumed he was, then wouldn't he have been up at the crack of dawn unable to bear another moment in my presence?

A goofy excitement comes to life somewhere in the deepest parts of my stomach and I have to control myself from wiggling with joy. Is it possible that he's been denying himself what he really wants all this time? Could it be that he actually desires me?

I'm so caught up in my own elation that I barely notice the black gloom sneaking its way into my mind, but the moment I notice it, it's like a punch to the gut. Suddenly I'm remembering divorce papers, angry eyes pointed at me, rejection, Tracy...

Tracy.

Tracy.

Tracy...

My husband wants to share my bed with me but chooses not to out of guilt. He's already got someone on the side to take care of those needs, he doesn't need two women for that. I guess he's decent enough not to cheat on Tracy while he's cheating on me.

But the thing is, I have no proof.

Sure, his attitude these days stinks, but I have nothing verifying my suspicions. The movies always make it seem so obvious. The lipstick on the man's collar, or the hint of perfume tainting his clothes... but I have yet to find anything on Seth. He's about as clean as rubbing alcohol.

I can physically feel the fire in my chest simmer down to a dull roar as I allow my gaze to swing over his sleeping form. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he is innocent, then he deserves my trust. So, deciding not to hate him for something he might not be doing, I decide to do the exact opposite.

I carefully remove myself from our bed and head towards the kitchen. Emma and Trevor are still sleeping, so I've got some time to get breakfast made. I pop open the fridge and lean over to peer at our food options. Nothing. We've got nothing.

An idea clicks into place and I quickly grab my keys and wallet from the dining room table and head out for the grocery store. I know I look ridiculous, but it doesn't matter because I'm going to Walmart, and all people are welcome at Walmart—no matter how ridiculous you look. Thankfully, I slept in my sports bra, so I don't have to worry about putting one on. Though, it is slightly unfortunate that I chose to wear my pajama bottoms that read "Hazardous Gas" on the butt.

I scurry into the store, throwing various food items into the cart before hightailing it out of there. I'm relieved to arrive back home to a quiet house. Apparently, ten o'clock is still too early for most.

I get to work slicing fruit into a salad before setting it in the fridge. I then start whipping batter together for pancakes. I've got a small stack cooked up by the time the first zombie-like human emerges from their room. Emma looks like a crazed clown. Clearly, she didn't get a chance to take off her make-up before going to bed, and she's paying for it dearly now. I don't think I've seen a scarier human in my life, to be honest.

"Geez," I mumble, horrified at her appearance.

"Don't," she growls, stumbling into the kitchen, hands searching the counters blindly.

"Can I help you?" I ask carefully. I won't deny the fact that I almost fear for my life right now. She looks like she's in that mood where if I speak too loudly she could tear open my skull and start eating my brain. We wouldn't want that now, would we? I happen to like my brains.

"Coffee." The single word almost drips from her mouth like a blob of saliva. She sounds delirious and desperate, and I suddenly realize that most people on earth survive on coffee alone.

I start backing away from her as I timidly admit that I didn't make any.

Her eyes find mine, pinning me in place against the countertop, and I hold my hands up as a plea, a smile fighting to release itself—though I know the consequences of laughing at her right now could be detrimental.

"I hate you."

That's all she has to say and I'm a laughing mess. She's so serious. Serious people always bring out the stupid in me. It's like my body has to find humor in the things they can't, so instead of trying to make them happy, I just laugh for them. It's gotten me in trouble a fair amount of times.

"Okay, okay," I chuckle, wiping tears from my eyes. "Right there," I tell her, pointing at the cabinet above her head. Luckily for her, Seth loves coffee more than his own life, so we're never out of stock.

"No energy," she whines dramatically, staggering to the living room and dropping her entire body onto the couch. I swear the couch actually eats her, that's how much it dips when she throws herself into the cushions.

"You will regret this," I tell her, but I make sure to say it just quiet enough that she won't hear me. I want to be able to inform her later that I did warn her, and it's not my fault that she wasn't listening.

I get to work scooping coffee into the machine and filling it with water. Once I see the brown liquid trickling from the spout, I get back to work on the pancakes. I've already burned three while attending to Emma's needs, so it's time to focus now.

I guess the scent of fresh food and coffee finally permeates the bedrooms because not even five minutes later, Seth and Trevor are stumbling out from hibernation and making their way into the kitchen. Their noses seem to be the only part of their bodies that are functioning correctly at this time in the morning. It's funny how at this age, going to bed at two in the morning can dramatically affect our schedule. Since I've got no sleeping schedule these days, I'm the only one that appears normal. I'm literally in a room with three bears right now.

Emma is still snoozing on the couch awaiting her (very) black coffee, and Seth and Trevor have managed to grumble a 'good morning' to each other and now sit tiredly at the table. I'm just about to berate them both for their laziness when I see Seth pull himself from his seat. I watch as he collects four dishes and a handful of utensils and begins setting the table.

I almost burn another pancake in my stupor. As he's placing down the last set of dishes, he glances up and catches my eye. He smiles and I'm too shocked to even return it. He doesn't seem to notice though because he's already headed toward the kitchen where he begins pouring coffee.

He doesn't wear short sleeves very often, which makes me wonder if he regrets some of his tattoos, but this morning he's going against the norm with a casual v-neck t-shirt. The markings on his skin swirl down to his forearms, and I'm momentarily dazzled by them. I used to hate tattoos. I couldn't fathom why someone would permanently draw pictures on their bodies. Don't they even consider the possibility of them growing saggy and stretched with age? And then I met Seth and all my questions died.

For once I could see the beauty behind the art. For some it might just be a way of drawing attention to themselves, but not for Seth. If anything, his tattoos are personal and deep. His are beads of heartache printed into his skin, a reminder of where he came from and who he once was. His childhood wasn't easy, and to keep himself motivated away from ever returning to it, he put reminders on his flesh. Maybe that's why he hides them. They aren't meant for other eyes. His tattoos are merely for himself and no one else, which is probably why he never talks about them. I don't even know the stories behind most of them.

It's just another mystery I'll have to add to my Seth jar. It's a jar full of unknowns that I hope to ask him one day. When things return to normal and I feel free to do so, I'll find out what made Seth the way he is. For now, though, I'll observe and do my best to figure out my husband on my own.

Flopping the last pancake onto the plate, I carry the stack of breakfast out to the table. As I'm returning, I stop to watch Seth hand Emma her coffee. She nods gratefully at him and then shuts her eyes in preparation for pure bliss. I already know she ain't gonna get it.

"Holy Cheese Whiz!" she cries, sputtering the contents back into her cup.

I just continue to watch, fascinated by the number of emotions flittering across her face. Absolute entertainment.

"That's disgusting!" she yells as she takes another sip. All eyes turn to investigate the commotion.

"Then don't drink it," Trevor tells her from where he sits watching at the breakfast table.

"I can't help it," she mutters, cringing as she gulps down the bitter brew. "It's so addictively horrible. I can't stop."

Hmm... well, that didn't go as planned. I actually think that I just created her new favorite coffee: thick, bitter, and black. My marriage issues are interfering with my ability to pull epic pranks. I'll need to work on that.

Curious, Seth leans his head down to take a quick sip of his coffee, and I watch his face wrinkle in distaste.

"No," he says, choking slightly as he shakes his head side to side. "No, that's not addictive in any way. Mercy," he glances at me, "you made this, didn't you?"

I smile wickedly with a shrug. "Guilty."

He shakes his head back and forth in disappointment as he returns to the kitchen to dump his and Trevor's coffees down the sink. As he's doing that I move towards the fridge and pull out the fruit salad and a carton of chocolate milk I picked up for him at the store.

"Here," I say, my words slightly hushed. "This is for you."

He glances at me before darting his gaze to the beverage in my hands. His face relaxes, a look of relief pulling his lips into an appreciative smile.

"Thank you." He takes the carton and jams the straw into the foil hole at the top before taking a sip. His eyes close and he sighs in bliss once he swallows. "Yes. I definitely needed that," he says to himself before narrowing his eyes at me for a moment, his head tilted slightly as he analyzes me. "Thanks."

I chuckle at his dramatic display of gratitude. "You're welcome."

Breakfast goes by well, and I'm relieved that Trevor and Emma don't inquire about married life. They married about a year after we did, and we haven't seen much of each other since then. So, because of that, I'd assumed we'd be spending hours catching up on our lives. Well, I was right. We did talk about our lives... but we never got too personal, for which I was very grateful.

Knowing that they have a long drive home, we hug our farewells and watch our old friends drive away. Now it's just Seth and me again. I wave one last time at the retreating car before turning and heading back inside, Seth at my heels. Once the door is shut, I turn towards him, my eyebrows raised in question. Now that everyone's gone, I'm not sure what to do with myself. I'm hoping he'll have the answer.

"Well," he begins, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair. "We could watch a movie?" His suggestion sounds more like a question, and I'm guessing it's due to some kind of insecurity about my answer. He thinks I'll say no.

"Sounds fun," I say. "Should we order pizza or something?"

By the time we stopped chatting and Trevor and Emma got their things together, it was nearly one. Then goodbyes took another forty minutes. So, in short, I'm definitely ready to eat again.

"Actually..." He rubs one hand over his opposite bicep before moving both hands to the back of his neck and clamping them together. My eyes follow the movement. "I was thinking we could go to a movie."

He drops his hands, shoving them into his front pockets as he waits for my response. I'm just so shocked at this moment that I stand gaping at him for far longer than is appropriate. He dips his eyebrows in worry as he waits.

"Yeah," I tell him finally. "That, uh... that sounds great." I glance down at my attire and then shoot him a panicked look. "Just give me ten minutes."

And then I'm flying to the bathroom in hopes of showering, shaving, drying, styling, dressing, and primping all within my own allotted amount of time. I fail by three minutes... which I still consider to be a rather impressive feat. I take it Seth does too because when I step out of our bedroom glammed up in my tightest coral jeans and a black and white polka-dotted silk top, I know I've done something right. I'm thinking it's the heels. I never wear heels, but I'm taking advantage of this situation. Besides, heels are scientifically known to make a girl look slimmer, and right now I'm congratulating shoemakers across the world for their brilliance.

His eyes follow me down the hall until I'm standing directly in front of him. He still doesn't utter a word, but he also doesn't do a darn thing to hide the fact that his eyes can't stop gaping at my legs. Up and down. Up and down. His eyes finally land on mine, humor vacant from his expression, and I wonder what he's thinking. He's clearly caught off guard, having not expected me to doll myself up so much.

"Whoa." It's all he says. And, truthfully, it's all I need to hear. I don't need him praising me. I just need to know he appreciates my efforts. Right now, there's absolutely zero doubt in my mind that he does. In fact, if we don't get moving, he might start drooling all over the wood floors.

"Shall we?" I say, and he nods, grabbing his keys and letting me lead the way out the front door.

For the first time in over five months, I'm actually going on a date with my husband.