Michael Stern stepped out of the elevator and approached his apartment door. He shifted his grip on the crimson roses and knocked at the door. He could hear Anita pad to the door, heard the soft sound of her hands against it as she raised to her tiptoes to look through the peephole. She opened the door, and almost immediately put her hands to her face. There her husband stood in a black suit with the first button on the coat fastened. His black tie stood out against the autumn brown shirt.

Stern's light glowed soft red-orange, like a soft candle. The light that was only for her. Intimate. Passionate. Warm. Against the autumn of the shirt and the night-black of his suit coat, he looked like their fondest memories of autumn days cuddled together, enjoying each other deeply.

Stern stepped close to his wife and whispered in her ear, 'I love you. I want you. Be mine this evening, make my world complete.' He placed the bouquet in her hands and waited for her reply.