Ethan

“Tilda.”

She lets out a sleepy grumble, and I smile against her forehead.

My wife is still tired from last night.

After the first time, we held each other as I apologized, in every way I could. But Tilda just kept telling me she understood, that I didn’t need to apologize anymore.

And then we had each other again. Slower.

Then we ate bowls of soup sitting in our chairs outside, feeding peas to Quackers, as I told her how Uncle Jack’s Wilderness Camp came to be.

I told her about the land I donated to the park, land I’d inherited from my parents.

And how I knew they’d approve. How in exchange for the land donation—which I got notarized at the post office the day after I received the money—the park agreed to make it official state park property, meaning it would be maintained by the staff.

I told her how I used every dollar I got from Jack to build it.

Then I made her look at my bank accounts, proving once and for all that I still have plenty of money all on my own.

Then, I followed her to the shower. And we ended up back in bed.

So, I’m still tired too. But I know she’s going to want to see this.

“Starlight, wake up.”

She mumbles something about buttholes, and my responding laugh is loud enough that she opens her eyes.

I wait for her to blink a few times. Then I tell her. “It snowed.” I smile. “A lot.”

Her eyes widen, and I recognize my mistake too late.

Tilda scrambles to sit up, pushing against my chest as she does.

And because I didn’t check to see how close I was to the edge of the mattress. And because my brain is too sex fogged to react quickly.

I fall off the bed.

“Oh my gods.” Tilda looks over the edge of the mattress down at me. “I’m sorry.”

I try not to smile. “You’re not sorry.”

She lifts her hand and holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I’m a little sorry.”

I push up onto my elbow. “I appreciate you leaving the floor mat here.”

Tilda climbs off the bed and holds out a hand to help me up. “I couldn’t get rid of it.”

I keep a hold of her hand when I’m standing. Because being here, Tilda in her pajamas, me in my boxer briefs, it all feels right.

Waking up together always feels so fucking right.

Tilda squeezes my fingers. “I couldn’t get rid of the book either.”

“What book?”

Tilda slips her hand from mine and opens the nightstand drawer.

I watch her move aside a birthday card. The one with the fairy on the front.

My throat fills with emotion, knowing she kept it.

Then she pulls out a small hardcover book.

The cover is plain, but when I open it, that emotion acts like gravity. And I pull Tilda to me.

I hold her against my side as I turn the pages.

As I look at our wedding photos.

Tilda had it custom printed. With the photos from our ceremony. With photos from the cabin.

The one of us before we left, when my lips are pressed to the top of her head.

“It’s perfect.” I kiss her hair.

She leans into me. “I got rid of the dress.”

Her words are quiet.

An admission.

A regret.

I press another kiss to her hair. “I got the dress back.”

Tilda tips her head back to look up at me. “What?”

I press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “It’s in my closet.”

Her mouth drops open. “How?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Then I turn us, walk her to the window, and yank the curtains open.

Tilda steps away from me and puts her hand on the glass. “Holy…”

Beyond the glass… is a winter wonderland.

Snow clings to every branch, coats every inch of ground, covers everything in a blanket of white.

And it all sparkles under the morning light.

“What about the flowers?” Her question is quiet.

I place my hand on her back, holding the book against my chest with the other, thinking that I need to put that first scrap of ribbon, and the ticket I never gave her, between the pages.

Tilda looks up at me. “The flowers at the Wilderness Camp.”

I lift a shoulder. “They’ll bloom again next year.”

“Oh. But…” Her eyes widen. “Quackers!”

She rushes away from me, and I shake my head as I follow.

Tilda is already against the window facing the front of the house, and I stop beside her, looking down at Quackers as she paddles a circle in her pool. The fountain prevents the water from freezing.

I smile at the bird as I put an arm around Tilda’s shoulders. “You convinced she’s fine?”

My wife nods.

“Good.”

I scoop her up and carry her back into the bedroom.

“Ethan!”

I back up to the bed, then sit so she’s on my lap.

Then I hand her the book. “I want you to show me every page.”

“Sitting on your lap?”

I shake my head and drop onto my back. “Riding me.”