Full Tide

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by Celine Conway


  It couldn’t be described as satisfaction, this happiness which wrapped her like a warm, silk cloak. In those farfetched moments when she had imagined Mark as a fiancé he had appeared still remote and cynical, a terribly difficult man to manage. But he wasn’t difficult at all.

  There were no words to describe the wonder and beauty of being loved by Mark.

  The clouds were moving fast, and presently a single white point of brilliance peeped from the folds of a heavy scarf of cumulus. A solitary star. Perhaps, looking upward, she made some sound, for Mark turned and his gaze followed hers.

  He gave a tender, mocking laugh and slipped an arm about her shoulder. “I love your sentimentality, too,” he said. “I love everything about you, for ever.”

  THE END

 

 

 


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