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The afternoon sun basked Primrose Hill in a golden hue, amplifying the flaming amber tones of the trees.
Mary’s hand was warm in John’s as they wandered. They were aimless, but John didn’t mind. Strolls like these were some of his favourites. Any stroll with Mary was his favourite, really.
A gentle tug on his arm told him their stroll had a direction after all. He followed her to a large maple tree where she lay down among the leaves.
She looked up at him and patted the ground next to her.
John smiled and joined her.
She propped herself on an elbow and picked up a vibrant red leaf; she put it his hair above his ear. Then she leaned back and admired him. “Perfect; brings out your eyes.”
“Oh, does it?” John felt a bit silly, but the smile on her face was worth it. She was worth it.
Mary nodded and they dissolved into laughter.
John wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head as she laid it on his chest.
He smiled blissfully. Here he was, laying among a pile of leaves, the woman he loved in his arms.
Life hadn’t been easy since Sherlock’s death, but Mary had made it brighter. No. She’d done more than that.
She had made it beautiful.