With one last scratch of ink, Dr. Patrick Turner finished his patient’s notes for the day. He capped his pen and stacked the forms neatly on his desk, as per Shelagh’s instructions. It was the least he could do, he smiled. Since her return to the surgery, his days went like clockwork.

Out in the waiting room, he could hear her humming quietly as she finished her own work. Shelagh was happy to be back as well, he knew. The babysitter they hired to care for Angela was working out well, after a few early bumps in the road.

Patrick leant back in his chair, quite at peace with his world. His surgery filled him with pride. Bright and airy, it held none of the drudgery of his former office in the old maternity home; Shelagh had seen to that.

Even his chair suited him. The wooden swivel chair had been a bit of a luxury expense, but Shelagh had insisted. Truth be told, Patrick was thrilled not to be sitting in his old noisy, uncomfortable steel chair.

He glanced over at the doorway and could hear his wife opening and closing the file drawers. Gingerly, he slowly pivoted the chair, checking for squeaks. Hearing none, he rolled away from his desk, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

With the skill of long practice, Dr. Patrick Turner pushed off with his left foot and began to spin the chair around. Building momentum with each step, he picked up speed and was soon spinning like a Christmas top.

The euphoria prevented him from thinking straight, so he did not hear the click of Shelagh’s heels as she came down the hall to meet him.

“Patrick! What on earth-” her sweet Scottish burr was strong in her surprise.

Instantly, Patrick dropped both feet to the floor, halting the spin of the chair. The force carried him around away from her, and he sheepishly took little steps to face his surprised wife.

Shelagh stood disapprovingly, her hands on her hips, mouth pursed. Shaking her head, she remonstrated, “Patrick Turner, precisely how old do you think you are?”

“Shelagh-” he attempted.

“Don’t you ‘Shelagh’ me, Patrick. That’s an office chair, not a carnival ride. What if I had been a patient?” She huffed, “Patrick, I thought I could expect you to behave as an adult.”

For a moment, Patrick looked back sheepishly, but caught a tiny gleam in her eye. This was about to get interesting.

Slapping his hands down on the arms of the chair, he stood. “You’re right of course. I was being rather silly.” He schooled his features into a proper look of remorse.

Shelagh stepped closer to him, for once not catching his glint of mischief. Patrick turned to move the chair, placing it strategically near his wife.

“I don’t mean to sound so stern, dearest, but-”

Deftly, Patrick reached out, scooped his wife in his arms and placed her in the chair. He bent to bring his face close to hers and breathed, “You don’t look so very stern to me now.”

Effectively trapped by his arms on the chair, his body blocking any route to escape, Shelagh tried valiantly to maintain her dignity, despite the desire to break out in giggles. Really, she thought. This man!

“Very funny, Patrick. Now let me back up, please.”

Squinting his eyes, her peered at her face closely. “No dice, I’m afraid. You have to pay the fee first.”

“Patrick, I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight.” By now, she couldn’t smother her smile any longer, and a charming dimple appeared.

“Five spins. Five spins and then I’ll let you up,” Patrick teased her.

“Patrick…”

His eyebrows climbed up his own forehead. “Five spins, sweetheart. Unless you’re afraid…”

Shelagh rolled her eyes at him, pressed her lips together primly and agreed. “Ridiculous man. All right. Five spins. Do I have your promise?” She held out her hand to be shaken.

“If you want me to stop, I promise I’ll stop.”

Patrick released her hand and placed his own on the arms of the chair. “Lift your feet.”

Taking a deep breath, Shelagh complied, and soon felt herself spinning slowly.

“Now that’s not so bad, is it?” Patrick said as he began to push the chair more quickly. By the third time around, Shelagh’s head was thrown back, a joyful smile on her face. Four spins, then five, and Patrick slowed the chair until she faced him again.

For the first time ever, Patrick could see the child she had been. Her face glowed with happiness, her hair, loosened from its pins, fell in locks about her face. She looked like a five-year-old girl on Christmas morning.

His grin smoothed into a lopsided smile as his eyes glittered with love. He lifted his hand to her face, pushed a dark blond tress behind her ear.

“Do you want me to stop,” he whispered, his face very close to hers.

“Never stop, dearest,” she murmured in return, her own hands sliding up around his neck.

Moving heart-stoppingly slowly, their lips met, the exhilaration of the last moments replaced by a quick passion.

“Dad, I hope you’re ready to get home. If I don’t have something to eat soon-”

Poor Timothy, tired and hungry after a long day of school and cricket practice, turned the corner of the doorway and stopped short. Patrick stood straight up quickly as Shelagh slowly turned the chair to face their son.

“Hello, Timothy,” she said with a false calm, “Your father was just showing me-”

“I don’t want to know. I’m going out to the car. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep me waiting, thank you.”

He turned, and rolled his eyes Heavenward. “Parents!” He muttered.