Any Other Day
On any other day, she wouldn’t have worn socks. And she would have showered and spent extra time washing her feet, cleaning between her toes, so that all that was left to smell when he slipped off her boots was the scent of soft leather.
On any other day, she would have kept her eyes open to watch him bury his nose in the arch of her foot. She would have kept her eyes open to watch him close his, to see him rub his nose against her until she giggled, until she said, “Stop. That tickles.”
On any other day, she thanked God it was any other day.
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