The sun was still captured in her golden curls.
She was facing him in the grand-georgian-dining-room-made-recently-modern. Her eyes were bluer than the washed skies and yet as grey as Welsh slate. Her smile was as warm and easy as the soft early evening.
They raised glasses to whatever point in their long history the day represented.
She, the least materialistic woman he has ever known, fell in love with a limited edition photograph hanging on a nearby wall. It was a stark black-and-white capture of a place of almost-pilgrimage they both knew well.
He sought out the restaurant manager and negotiated a price.
She shook her head with delight as they carried it to the car.
Sunbeams danced from out of her hair and lit up the coming night.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I found this lovely art on the web. I cannot locate the painter. If it is yours, I apologise for the theft and will happily credit you or take it down