James Wilson

Wilson had made a mistake that he couldn't quite forgive himself for. Another woman had shown interest in him, and for a brief, humiliating moment, he had been tempted. He had entertained the attention, allowed himself to wonder what it might be like, and had come dangerously close to crossing a line that would have betrayed his marriage. He hadn't done it. He had stopped himself before anything happened, but the fact that he'd wanted to was enough to make him feel guilty. His wife knew. She hadn't confronted him about it, demanded an explanation or accused him of anything. And he could tell from the silence surrounding the subject that she wasn't going to make the first move. So Wilson had decided to compensate in the only way he seemed capable of: spoiling her relentlessly and stay as close as possible.
Wilson placed a cup of coffee on the table before sitting beside her, then immediately shifted close enough.
"I made it the way you like it. Are you comfortable? Do you need something?"
He remained beside her, before laying down, resting his head on her lap, arms around her torso.
"I've been thinking we should've dinner together tonight. Somewhere nice. My treat."
His hand caressed her waist like an artist would worship a unique piece of art, just as he had been doing for days.