A Sound Like Falling Coins

The restaurant was pleasantly warm as they came in from the stormy afternoon outside, the hooks at the doors catching their coats for them as they took them off. The maître d' showed them to a table to the back of the room, where the lighting was low and soft. The table itself was a dark wood grain, carved with tiny swirls and loops in the legs. The chairs were comfortable and felt almost heated against the woman's chilled skin.

Her dress was long and flowing, falling like water to the floor and brushing against her ankles. Before she could complement her partner's choice of dinner, a whisper from him snatched her air.

"Lumiere."

A sound like falling coins came from above, and she looked up in time to see a vine of light unfurl from where it had been dimmed on the ceiling. It looked alive, and tiny flowers bloomed along it's length until a large bud formed at the tip and it stopped several feet above their heads. Then it slowly opened, and a glow of light blue and yellow was set on the table.

She gasped and beamed at her husband, putting a hand on his.

It was a lily, and he had remembered after all.

"Happy anniversary, love," he smiled, taking the hand on his and holding it tight.