The Lake District

She shivered under the covers, her thin gown not serving as much protection against the frigid air. He seemed to have been gone for an eternity; she picked up her watch from the bedside table and looked at it again, how long could it take to chop a bit of wood? Looking out the mullioned windows; she could see a few stars and the trees slightly lit by the glow of the nearly full moon. Just then the door to the tiny cottage flung open and she heard his heavy footsteps as he crossed the floor, she could hear him loading the wood into the stove. The banging and clanking persisted for a few minutes before all she could hear was the crackling and popping of the wood.

His silhouette appeared in the doorway; he ducked slightly as he stepped into the room. He tugged at the heavy woolen cable knit jumper, stretching it over his head and tossing it on the floor beside her. The illuminations of the candle light danced across his skin still glistening from the sweat of his labor. His muscles were swollen and taught, he looked like an Adonis standing before her, she thought to herself. He removed his heavy corduroy dungarees, she grinned as they fell to the floor revealing his naked body in its entire splendor.

He lifted the covers of the bed peeling back the blankets and downy duvet; he slid his body next to hers. She breathed in the heady aroma of smoke, wood sap and sweat, it was quite intoxicating. She no longer felt cold.