The massage turned out to be a deeply appreciated early Valentine's Day present. He smiled all through the day, sliding under the door when he arrived back home and draping himself over various pieces of furniture. He said he didn't think he'd ever feel solid again and he was happy to have the gift of relaxation. Jacob seems so laid-back but I don't think he ever actually is so this was a welcome change.
He did make pancakes too, heart-shaped ones. I can't even fathom. He decorated the plates with strawberries and drizzled syrup hearts over everything. Lots of butter. I love butter.
And more flowers came, just after lunch. Yellow roses. A dozen. They're huge and gloriously sweet-smelling. I don't know where to put them, since the pink ones are on the dining room table, so they're on the kitchen table and I keep having to scoop the cat away from them. She loves to eat flowers. Jacob swore at her mightily but laughed and audibly hoped for a rose-smelling litter box by the end of the day.
This morning he took me to the bookstore after we took the kids to school and we surrendered to our inner yuppies, drinking complicated coffees and splitting a piece of cake and he asked me to choose a book for us for him to read aloud. I chose Fitzgerald, surprising Jacob, who had expected me to chose the darker Hawthorne. We have the greatest discussions about writing sometimes that lead us down some very unexpected paths.
He said we would start it tonight. After a long bubblebath.
Which is just what I need. I hope it's for two.
For the record, he really wasn't all that impressed with my heavy spending yesterday and so I relented slightly, ordering just the dress in the end. He did say he was also looking forward to seeing me in it, so all is well.
