9. Chapter Nine
T his morning, I woke to a handwritten note on the nightstand. Jonas and I were from a time when cell phones didn’t exist. We were older than text messages. Our summers together were magical times when we could be together daily. The rest of the year, we dated long-distance. Thankfully, I went to the conservatory in his hometown, and he played in that city’s farm system. His family owns the team now, but back then, they didn’t. It was a mix of luck and skill that got him drafted by his local team—the one he’d dreamed about playing for as a young boy. During the season, he was equal parts on the road all over the country and in his temporary home in Colorado. San Francisco to Denver wasn’t a long flight, but our schedules rarely aligned for visits between my performances and his games. Plus, I was stubborn and determined to make it on my own, so I wouldn’t allow his parents to pay for my ticket except twice a year—once as a birthday gift and the other as my Christmas gift.
During our time apart, we called each other at least two times a week and wrote letters. While we both loved our careers and not only understood but supported how hard we each worked, we longed for our summers together. I was in Seaside for at least two months, sometimes a bit longer. Jonas usually only had four weeks, maybe five. We lived for those weeks together, where we were at each other’s sides from sun up to sun down. Summers in Seaside had always been special, but the summers with Jonas were magical. Looking back, it almost seemed unbelievable that we built our relationship on twice weekly phone calls, letters, and four weeks in our favorite beach town.
Once we married and he played for the Caribou, we continued writing letters, each of us tucking them into the other’s suitcase before we traveled. And I also found one on my nightstand after he left for a road game. But over time, as we got busy shuttling our children to and from their activities and neither of us traveled as much, the letters stopped. I lifted the folded cream linen paper from where he’d rested it against the bedside lamp and ran my finger across the script. Something as simple as ‘Annie’ inside a heart shouldn’t cause my eyes to water, but it did.
Jonas was the only person who had ever shortened my name. A first name and a middle name spoken together as one name was the tradition for the women in my family. My grandmother was Mary Louise. My mother and her sister were Mary Ellen and Sarah Louise, respectively. My older sisters were Sue Ellen and Sarah Beth. Then there was me, Anne Marie. Never Anne. Never Marie. When Jonas asked me if I had a nickname, I told him I’d never had one, but always thought it would be romantic for someone to call me something no one else did. Two days later, when he kissed me for the first time, he whispered ‘Annie, my love,’ in my ear and never called me anything else.
I raised the note to my nose and inhaled. It smelled like his cologne. About three months after our first summer together, I told him other than the feel of his lips against mine, the two things I missed the most were the feel of our fingers interlocked and the smell of his cologne. Each note after that smelled like him. When I unfolded the linen paper, I expected to find a few lines telling me details about what he planned for the day or something of that nature, but instead, I found five promises.
Annie, my love
I cannot find the words to tell you how sorry I am for making you doubt that you are anything but the most important part of my life. This summer, I promise to do the following:
Kiss you goodnight and good morning, if you’ll let me. And I hope you will because I’ve missed that.
Talk about everything we should have been discussing these past years.
Be honest and open during our talks, remembering to listen before responding.
Take the therapy workbook seriously and complete each task from a place of compassion and love, with a focus on being honest to myself and you.
Once we’re ready, I will hold you in my arms while we sleep, the way I used to. The way I should have been doing each night.
I know you have your doubts that I will follow through and my actions in the past have shown that I put my career in front of our marriage, but not anymore. You have my undivided attention this summer, and for however long it takes us to fix us.
You are the love of my life. I’m sorry for ever making you doubt that.
With the paper pressed against my chest, I inhaled deeply. “Oh, Jonas. Please, please, please keep your word. Somewhere along the way, we lost each other. My wish is we find ‘us’ again. Maybe one magical summer in Seaside is what we need to get on the same page about our lives again.”
Once I dressed for the day, I made my way to the living where I found Jonas reading. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
I accepted his outstretched hand before leaning down to kiss him. What I intended to be a quick kiss, he turned into more by guiding me to sit on his lap. His fingers threaded through my hair as he applied pressure, deepening our kiss. I moaned against his lips as his tongue slipped into my mouth. We’d always been good at this from the first kiss. Our bodies simply knew what the other craved, and there’d never been awkwardness or fumbling. When he eased us to a stop, I settled further into his lap. “Well, that’s one way to say good morning.”
“Remind me why we ever stopped kissing like that first thing in the morning.” He pressed his lips to my hand before resting our interlinked fingers against his heart.
“I’ll give you two hints, and they both call you dad.” Between their squeals of disgust seeing us kiss, our busy mornings getting them out the door to school, or heading in different directions to take them to early practices and then school, our good morning kiss went from practically a make-out session to a quick greeting that felt obligatory, not desired.
His nose nuzzled against mine before he kissed my temple. “I guess we never picked up the habit again once they both moved out. And that’s a damn shame because kissing you has always been my favorite part of the day.”
I shifted slightly on his lap, tilted my head, and grazed my fingernails down his beard. “Then we should do it again.”
He instantly accepted my offer and covered my lips with his. His fingers dug into my hips as he repositioned me without breaking our kiss. My knees pressed into the cushions as I sunk into his lap. His arm snaked around my back and guided my chest against his. His lips left mine as they slid down my chin and then licked my neck. My greedy body wanted more as I rocked against him, but the nagging voice in the back of my mind told me to slow down. We’d always been good at this. The physical had never been our issue, and at one time, the communication was just as strong. But years ago, we slipped into the habit of letting physical needs and desires rule and then we lost our connection.
As soon as my fingers gripped his shirt’s hem, he stopped me. “Wait, not yet. We’re keeping our clothes on today. Just kissing, sweetheart.”
I peppered kisses along his jawline before taking his earlobe between my lips and gently sucking. It was one of the things that drove him wild. “I’ve missed this,” I whispered as his hands gently massaged my ass.
“Me, too.” He settled me back into my original spot on his thigh and draped my legs across his. “Please don’t take my request to wait as a rejection or not wanting this. I want nothing more than to scoop you into my arms, carry you to the bedroom, and ravage you. Hell, I’d love to feast on you while you were spread out on the table. The physical has never been our issue, sweetheart. And when we first started therapy, there were too many nights we skipped the conversations and jumped into bed because we caved to the carnal desires, likely hoping it solved the issue.”
My face nuzzled against his neck as I inhaled deeply. He smelled like salty air, lavender, and musk. “It never worked. Giving into each other’s bodies never fixed us. That’s not what’s broken.”
His lips warmed my forehead. “Good thing we have the summer. Lots of time to figure everything out. What do you say? Ready to head out?”
“Yeah. I’m going to grab a sweatshirt just in case it’s chilly later.”
He pointed toward the backpack on the couch. “I already packed them. And water, plus a small towel and baby powder so we can get the sand off our feet after we walk along the beach. Since we’re walking, I figured I’d carry our things in the backpack, and there’s plenty of room for anything we pick up. I even grabbed the rocks we decorated to take to the beach. The rest are on the table. We can put them in the planter beds when we get home.”
I practically jumped off his lap. “You thought of everything.”
“Tried to,” he said with the coy smile that I’d fallen in love with the first time I saw him. He linked his fingers with mine after tossing the bag onto his back. “Let’s go, sweetheart. We have our first adventure waiting.”