Interlude

Sally sat quietly in the restored 1920s hotel lobby, waiting for the limo which would take her to the chapel. Occasionally she would pat her hair, just to make sure that her mop of brown curls hadn't escaped the clutches of the many hairpins the stylist had used.  Mostly she just sat as still as she could manage in a white dress, and let the music from a string quartet drift around her. 

She saw him, a study in grace, drift down the stairs into the lobby, his navy suit pressed to perfection, the white of his shirt a contrast to his chiseled, sun-kissed features.  Sally's breath caught in her chest at the sight.  His hair curled a little around the temples in a way that made her want to caress them. Their eyes met with a jolt of recognition.  And then he stood in front of her, his cool palm extended, his smile inviting.  With a smile of her own, Sally placed her trembling hand in his, and stood.

Immediately his other arm went around her waist, pulling her into his chest tightly.  His feet began a familiar waltz, and Sally giggled as she was whirled about. His arm felt solid and steady against the small of her back and she felt so brilliantly happy. She knew that she loved this man with all her heart. Her hand gripped his shoulder as if he were a life raft in her usual ocean of despondency.  This was where she belonged.  Their eyes were only for each other.   She offered her lips to his, her eyes fluttering closed.  Sally felt his lips barely graze hers; she made a small frustrated sound in her throat, and her lover chuckled.

"Patience, my love!" his voice chided.  Sally frowned; the admonition had seemed distant, as if time itself were separating them.  Her eyes flew open.  She could still feel the warmth of his hand on the small of her back, her lips still tingling. 





The prompt is the third definition of the word GRACE.

This prompt is to write about the spaces between.