I unlock the door—and when I open it, I’m hit with a wave of scent. Lemon and peppermint. 

Good news: Grace has been cleaning. Bad news: Grace has been cleaning. 

I take off my shoes before I get too far beyond the front door—because I really like being married. 

“Damn girl,” I shout from the foyer. “You trying to get me to marry you again?” 

“Har har,” she replies from the kitchen. My wife is simply stunning in her clam diggers and a tank top with rubber gloves and an apron. She looks like the opening scene of a neat-freak porno. 

“I’m not kidding.” I put down her flowers and pick up my sweetheart. “Are you selling the house? Is there something I should know? It’s gorgeous in here.” I run my lips along her neck. “You’re gorgeous,” I rumble. She has chills. I love her reaction to me.