They seldom wore shoes on Sundays...

Most Sundays they spent a good portion of the day in bed. He watched the football games on TV for hours. She told him about her upcoming week, growing excited for what was to come, as she set fresh flowers about the house. Around 1 o’clock they ate lunch - a colorful plate of all their favorites. She curled up on one end of the couch, her legs and feet covered with a blanket. He sat next to her, his legs sprawled out in front. They looked forward to these lazy Sundays all week—sometimes spent laughing at whatever movie he had in his queue, sometimes spent holding one another hovering the thin line between pillow talk and half-conscious murmurings as they slipped into a light sleep. As daylight turned to dusk, their stomachs reminded them of the hour and, for the first time that day, they put on shoes and walked down the long, winding roads to the tiny restaurant at the base of the mountain. Here they took a seat at their typical table and ordered the exact same thing they had ordered every Sunday night for the last eight months.