Here is an example of a scene, creating dramatic tension. Let me know what you think, does it work?
The Scene By: M.E. Berthiaume
The sun peeks over the Catskills at dawn. Mark had been waiting for Anne to return home. He squints, pulls the blinds and slumps down at the table. He looks at Anne. Her prurient eyes are closed as she rubs her temples with her fingertips. Another migraine, he thinks. She had a lot of those lately, ever since she started that night shift. They never talk anymore.
All Anne wants, is to feel that hot stream of water pouring over every knot, every bulge, and every crevice of her raw body. She feels dirty. Anne yawns. She stands, stretches her long lean body toward the sun spinning pinwheels along the slats of the blinds and scratches her head just behind her left ear.
She reminds him of Lady, their Cocker Spaniel when she scratches like that, jerking the hair one way, then back, a wicked smile snaking across her lips.
Anne pulls down on the corner of her blouse and presses it over her shapely bottom. Anne avoids Mark’s hush puppy eyes. She hates the way he looks at her in the morning, the way he pretends that he doesn’t know what she does when she goes out at night. He is always so damn courteous.
Mark fixes his eyes on the blue green orbs peeking out behind the long silk lashes and sighs. He wonders what Anne is thinking. She can’t leave, he prays.
“Sit back down and finish your coffee, at least,” Mark stammers. He is never good enough for her, or her mother, and he knows why. He looks down at the Swedish pancakes and boysenberries. None of it has been eaten. Anne had merely pulled her food apart on her plate. She hates Swedish pancakes. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
“Please Sugar, don’t go.” Mark’s voice rings like the bell on her bike. He is too tired to get up. His bones ache. Anne stops at the door as though she ponders his suggestion.
“I’m going to take a shower Dumpling,” she says without turning around. “Why don’t you join me?”