Stale

It was their fourth wedding anniversary. It was their first dinner together in months. Today they had pushed meetings and avoided frantic calls from the office for a promise made years ago; to never spend this day alone. She knew his secretary had booked this table and picked the flowers. He knew she had shopped for the dress an hour before he had picked her up. They was no need for conversation, there was no shortage of it either. When they spoke, they talked of things that mattered, of things that didn’t and things that had to be said. They had dinner with red wine and enjoyed it, they smiled and laughed and enjoyed it. They walked out arm in arm and in smiles. Standing there, under the stars, his phone rang, and then hers. They answered. Sometimes she wondered how they hadn’t got lost yet.