73. Adrian
SEVENTY-THREE
ADRIAN
FOUR YEARS LATER…
My husband stands in our kitchen at the large picture window, a cup of coffee in his hand, clad in only a pair of boxer shorts, absently scratching his left calf with the toes of his right foot.
His gaze is on the ocean and the pines, where the rays of the early morning sunshine are peeking through the branches, creating golden spots on the ground.
Archie and Bear are snoring in front of the open French doors.
A soft breeze ruffles their fur and makes their noses twitch and tails wag every now and then.
It’s early, just moments past sunrise, so the air in the cabin is slightly cool still, but I can already tell it’s going to be another hot summer day.
I make my way through the kitchen and stand behind Dylan, wrapping my arms around him. I kiss his neck, and he tilts his head to the side to give me better access.
“Everybody else still asleep?” I murmur against his neck.
He nods and turns his head to smile at me. “I’m pretty sure Jax, Mia, and Daisy only went to bed a few hours ago.”
The family’s here for the weekend to celebrate my thirtieth. We’ve done nothing but eat, sleep in, hang out, take naps, and eat some more. It’s been a blast.
It took us a few years to fix up the house we bought ourselves near Rockport.
It used to be just a small living room and our bedroom, but we’ve expanded from that, so now we have a large family room with a view of the ocean and pines, a master bedroom with an identical view, and three guest rooms that are almost never empty because we have a lot of people in our lives, and somebody always drops by.
It’s a home we’ve worked tirelessly to make our own. It’s where we truly began our life together.
It’s where our family and friends come to dinner every other Friday.
It’s where we celebrate holidays and birthdays and anniversaries.
It’s the place where I asked Dylan to marry me.
It’s where we said “I do” in the backyard in front of our family and friends.
It’s where we kick back on the couch after a day of work and watch movies.
It’s where we cook together and laugh together and love together.
This is a place we always come back to.
I take the half-empty cup from Dylan’s hand and finish it off before I put it down on the counter, then I slide my fingertips beneath the waistband of his underwear. He sighs contentedly and leans against me, head on my shoulder.
“What are you thinking about?” Dylan murmurs, his lips moving against my skin, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.
“A little bit about everything. Freya texted me last night. She wished me a happy birthday.”
Dylan smiles when he looks at me. “How is she?”
He asks it casually like talking is something Freya and I do on the regular.
We’ve been exchanging birthday messages and an occasional text here and there. We sometimes see each other on special family occasions, like weddings and street parties. But we barely ever talk in person.
“She’s settling in her new place. She and Jared are adopting a puppy.”
“Good for them,” Dylan says.
I nod. There was a time I hoped Freya and I could eventually become friends.
We haven’t.
Step by step, year by year we’re becoming strangers. I’m not sad about it. There’s a kind of calm acceptance about the way I feel about her.
I loved her once, but now it’s over. And that’s okay.
I hug Dylan tighter.
He melts into me.
I don’t have it in me to ever regret anything that lead me to this moment. That lead me to him.
“You know what else I’ve been thinking about?” I ask.
“Enlighten me,” he whispers.
“You,” I say. “Us.”
He smiles.
“You’re being mushy,” he says softly.
“No. Just happy.”
It’s almost a tangible thing. I’ve never felt it quite like this in my life. This kind of happiness. Not before Dylan.
It’s the kind of happiness that is a part of you. That you can feel in your gut and coursing through your bloodstream. The kind of quiet, contented happiness that’s just always there, without fail, even on bad days or when it feels like life is letting you down.
“What about us?” he says.
I smile and rest my chin on his shoulder.
“I’m making plans.”
His smile widens. “Am I in them?”
I kiss him.
“In every sentence on every page,” I say.
Like he’s always been.
Will always be.
In my book of life, every chapter is named Dylan.
It’s the best book I’ve ever read.
The End