Wind whipped through Martin's bushy brown hair. He had always wanted a convertible; after two decades scrimping and saving he had finally landed on a ten-year-old Mercedes. He would have taken black over silver if it had been available in his price range, but Martin figured he wouldn't spend much time looking at the outside of the thing.
The first time he took his new toy out for a spin was with Amy. They put the kids to bed, set the burglar alarm, and Martin whisked his wife into the early evening around eight o’clock. Amy had made it clear to Martin that they couldn’t be more than twenty minutes - she was really indulging his childish want to race around the back roads behind their house. Once they got onto the open road, though, Amy began to see why her husband had been so keen on the car. She threw her arms above her head, enjoying the freedom the millions of miles of sky offered her. Next to her, Martin looked across with a smile. Amy was always the kind of person who was wary, always worrying until she got into the moment. Then she could let herself go a little. Martin felt as though he could always drag Amy along just long enough to get her to enjoy herself.
By the time they got home, the clock had ticked past eleven.