The Cherished Wife

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"Charles!"

"Enough, Mom. I don't have time for this. It's getting late, and I need to grab dinner." Charles ended the call and noticed Noelle gripping his hand tightly. He quirked an eyebrow and asked in a gentle voice, "What's up?"

Noelle shook her head. "Are you and your mother not getting along?" With the way Charles had just spoken to his mother, it was obvious things were strained. Noelle felt a twinge of sadness. "Is there some kind of misunderstanding between you two?"

"No, not at all!" Charles patted Noelle's head with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. Didn't they say dinner's ready? Come on, let's eat!" Charles clearly wanted to avoid the subject, and Noelle, sensing this, could only agree. "Alright, I'll get your plate ready!"

"Thanks," Charles said, watching Noelle walk away. There was a shadow of something more in his gaze.

Noelle could tell that Charles was off today. His mood had been soured by that call from his mother, Clarisse. She did not know the specifics of what was going on between Charles and his mother or the drama within the Hoffman or Harris family, but she could tell it was nothing positive. Thinking about her own family and then back to Charles, she could not help but feel they had a kind of kinship in their troubles.

That evening, Charles seemed to be working through his frustrations, and Noelle found herself caught in the crossfire. It was then she realized how intense men could be when they were upset. Even though she was not the cause of his anger, she felt its repercussions.

Noelle rolled out of bed with the sun barely up, every muscle in her back screaming and her waist stiff as a board. It felt like her body had gone through a blender. And there he was, Charles, the reason for her agony, leaning casually against the door with that infuriating grin. "Up a bit late, aren't we? Looks like

someone's going to be late tomorrow."

She glared at him, her voice a mix of anger and morning grogginess. "Tonight, you're exiled to the guest room. I'm dead serious."

Charles squinted playfully before sauntering over, propping himself against the bed with one hand while the other circled Noelle's waist. He planted a kiss on her forehead, chuckling. "Come on, up and at 'em. Breakfast is waiting."

Noelle shoved him back, her hands up like a fierce little kitten. "Did you not hear me? Guest room. Tonight. I'm not messing around, Charles!" She inhaled sharply, rubbing the ache in her waist. "Keep your distance, will you?"

He gave her that look again, half-amused, as he tousled her hair. "Oh, you're serious?" His smile was warm, the kind that usually melted her resolve. "Okay, okay, my bad. I'm sorry. I'll try to dial it back a bit. I promise not to wear you out!"

She pouted, unconvinced. "How many times have I heard that? You always say it, but you never do it. I'm not falling for it this time. Out, Charles. Now!"

With a huff, Noelle marched him to the door, gave him a push that sent him stumbling out, and locked it behind him. She threw over her shoulder one last line, her voice firm. "Don't think you're off the hook that easily. I've got standards, you know!"

Noelle, ever the stickler for safety, locked the door behind her and made a beeline for the bathroom to freshen up. Charles, left in the hallway could not help but let out a half-hearted chuckle. He lingered at the door and gave the knob @twist. Yep, she had bolted it from the inside. He shook his head, amused and a bit exasperated.

A delicious aroma tickled her nose as Noelle descended the stairs, prompting a look of surprise. "You made soup? Creamy mushroom soup?"