Iris
It’s late, and I’m still up reading. The crickets are chirping outside, the room illuminated only by the faint glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Miles is fast asleep beside me, curled up beneath the covers.
I started reading the book from the beginning, since I forgot most of the plot. I forgot how funny and romantic it is—it’s a love story about a farmer hiring a nanny after his wife passes away, and the two of them slowly fall in love. It’s sweet, meaningful, and makes me laugh on more than one occasion.
But it’s not just the book that makes me smile. It’s the way that sitting here, propped up in bed with a romance novel in my lap, reminds me of days gone by.
Sure, I might have been in my old bedroom back then, not the guest room. And Miles wasn’t here then. But
