Slowly and carefully (and with some expertise) he painted each nail in turn. Then he moved over to the other side of my chair and painted the nails of...my other hand. I held them up and looked them over: he’d done a very nice job. ‘There’s a clear lacquer as well.’ I said. ‘Yes, Miss.’ I let him sit still for a few minutes while the polish dried, then set him off coating my nails again. It was lovely, feeling his hand in mine as he carefully, methodically re-painted my nails. Funny to think just. For the past few years my love for Dave had grown complacent. It wasn't that I didn't love him any more, just that I wasn't excited by him any more. Over the years Dave had become comfortable like an old pair of shoes to me. He let his hair get kind of shaggy like the farm boys around here and was sporting a little bit of a tummy as well.We did pretty well financially but you couldn't tell it by the way Dave lived. Sure I drove a Mercedes E class but Dave had a seven year old 2005 Mustang that. More

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