Spoke calls me an earth angel.
Each time, I shake my head and roll my eyes. I guess I should own some guilt, surely it's required of real earth angels. But I don't; I secretly like it.
Can men be earth angels?
Spoke's so attentive. He surprises me with flowers and brings me glasses of champagne at the most unexpected times. He compliments. He listens; really listens.
If I need it, he rubs my shoulder blades, the only place I seem to carry stress. We've always, casually referred to them as my wings.
Spoke worked out an annoying knot deep in my left shoulder blade the other evening. I thanked him profusely. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.
Brushing off the thanks, he said he's always happy to massage his earth angel for he knows her wings get weighed down now and then.
My heart is bursting and I feel as if I could soar.