home

He slipped in the backdoor. She hadn’t heard him come in. He could see her reflection in the mirror in the hall as she made her way around the kitchen wiping the counters. She was humming softly, nothing he could make out but he knew she was happy. The smell of the pie baking in the oven filled the house. Cinnamon, vanilla and fresh apples, their fragrance filling every room, and of course the aroma of the coffee, he imagined that the pie must be almost done if she had the coffee on already.
He hung his scarf and jacket on the hook, and slipped his boots off. He knew she would fuss later about the wet and the mud by the entry. He picked up the flowers and walked down the hall in his stocking feet. The cat looked up from his grooming, gave Henry a slightly perplexed look and then returned to lick his front foreleg.
She still hadn’t heard him. The water was running in the sink as she finished cleaning the last of the dishes. Something caught her eye and she turned just as he entered the kitchen.
“For me? Oh Henry they’re beautiful” and she kissed him. It had been so long since he had brought her flowers, or come home early. She didn’t even ask him why he was there. There would be time to tell her, later, that he’d lost his job but for now he reveled in her kiss and the sweet smell of home.