Twain's End - Pg 74

   "I'd like to be king." He tossed his graying auburn mane and held out his cigar like a scepter. "How's that?"
   She bowed to him. "Your Highness."
   "What am I king of?"
   She thought of his fondness for cards. "Hearts."
   He nodded. "Right." He put out the other hand. "You may kiss the royal mitt."
   She gazed at his wedding band shining from within its sparse thicket of hair. When she looked up, he lifted his hand.
   She returned his bold look, then leaned forward and kissed his knuckle. The salty taste of his skin stayed on her lips after she pulled back; she smelled the tarry smoke of his cigar.
   The laughter in his eyes settled into seriousness. They took a breath and, as one, turned toward the river. Below, a paddle ship, trailing smoke from its single black stack, navigated the broad and sparkling seam in the earth.