“Oh. Edward.” His wife put a hand to her neck, as though he were the last person she expected to see in the hallway of their home. Not that he could argue a counterpoint. They never ran into each other. The house was too big for two people, that was true, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she was avoiding him. “I—” He blinked, noticing what she had on. Or, rather, what she didn’t have on. She wore one of his old white dress shirts; the sleeves rolled up with paint splatters on it. That was it. Her legs were bare except for the chain circling her ankle. He tried not to think about whether or not she had anything on under the shirt, but—damn it—she was his. He was supposed to be allowed those thoughts about her. “I’m glad I ran into you, Edward,” she said with a direct look. His chest lightened, happy, too.
