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The house is quiet when Rory gets in. Amy's probably upstairs in her office - knowing her, she's got to caught up in a piece of research that she's completely lost track of the time. He'll start dinner then go and extract her. He kicks his shoes off, drops his key on the hall table and drapes his jacket over the banister, heading through into the kitchen.
He stops short in the doorway. The breakfast counter's been cleared, and there's a red envelope in the middle, with his name on it in Amy's scrawl.
Grinning, he opens it. It's a handmade creation, with one of Amy's drawings on the front - the two of them in their wedding clothes, floating in space. It's beautiful.
The inside of the card reads:
Apples are red
The TARDIS is blue
Your face is stupid
And I love you.
Rory laughs, hearing movement behind him. "You're a woman of many, many talents. But poetry really isn't one of them."
"I don't know what you mean," Amy says airily, walking up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder. "I thought it was rather good, myself."
"Mmm, I still say stick to prose," he says.
He turns in the circle of her arms and reaches for his own gift, producing a sunflower.
"For a woman worth waiting for," he says, and kisses her.
"Aw, thanks!" She takes the flower and sniffs it, touching the petals.
"Every year we say we're not going to do anything," Rory feels obliged to point out. "And every year we fail."
"I know," Amy sighs. "Still, not too extravagant this year."
"Er." He shifts, avoiding her eye.
"What have you done?" she asks, suspicious.
"Well, I might have made a call last week, put in a reservation for tonight--"
He's cut off by an indignant huff from the garden.
"I don't know how many times I have to tell you lot, I am no one's taxi service. I was halfway across the galaxy examining some very interesting arboreal developments in a brand new nebula, and then I get dragged over here so you two can have a date. It's very undignified."
"A concept entirely unfamiliar to you, I'm sure," says Amy as she opens the patio door and lets the Doctor in. "Hello, you."
The Doctor's grumpiness vanishes in an instant as Amy and Rory hug him.
"Thanks for coming," Rory says.
"Yes, well," the Doctor says, trying for annoyed but failing. "Come along, Ponds, you don't want to be late. There's a candlelit dinner on the no-longer-lost moon of Poosh with your name on it."
Rory looks at Amy, who beams her approval. She takes his hand, and they walk into the TARDIS.