How I Met My Wife.
His thumb is on my cheekbone.
He kisses me.
It is not desperate. It is not angry. It is careful. It is the kind of kiss a man gives a woman he has been waiting six weeks to kiss, the kind of kiss a man gives a woman he has been thinking about every day, the kind of kiss a man gives a woman when he wants to do it right, when he wants to do it once, when he wants to do it the way a surgeon does a thing, with his hands steady, and his breathing slow, and his full attention on the place where his mouth is meeting her mouth, and the place where his hand is on her jaw, and the place where his other hand is on her waist.