Always?

Is every night going to be like this?

Glances up, holding a book, and smiles.
Can't know what I'm doing, working on, at the other end of the room.
But he smiles.
At me.
Because I'm here.
And he's here. With me.
That's enough to make him smile.
I keep on working, hide my smiles inside my papers.

Is every night going to be like this?