What Meets the Eye

There was a chuckle in his voice; Sylvia could hear it. She felt her tension melt, glad that Sol was home, in a good mood — not a small thing. She hoped that meant his excursion alone had gone well.

“Is that so?” She listened as Sol closed the door, shuffled over to the table where she was cutting vegetables for dinner. One hand gripped the cylinder of the cool carrot, the other held the squat peeler. With her thumb, she determined which portions were unpeeled, which still needed work.

Sol stood to her right, so she turned her body toward him so he could see her face.

“She’s a redhead.”

“Hmm…” Sylvia knew in theory what that color was, but could not imagine the potential allure. She stayed silent, listening to his monologue, even though every fiber was shouting to cut in, to confirm if he had been safe.