I hear him suck in a breath as he reads the title, his eyes—the color of the woods all around us—taking in picture after picture I’ve pinned to the board already.
A converted van that looks a lot like mine.
A close-up of a dirt-streaked masculine hand holding a wrench, working on a car.
Cold cans of beer, condensation dripping down the sides, like we shared that first night we stayed up all hours talking.
Fingers clenching bedsheets, the way he’s made mine do, even before we gave in to each other’s pull.
Paint rollers, cans of paint, and specific shades that we used as we brought the town back to life. The black and white stripes of the bakery. The pale pink of the cafe. An aqua that shouldn’t work in a pizza place, but it does somehow.
A bed that looks a lot like his, the one we shared our first night together, when we weren’t allowed to touch.
The Welcome to Downtown Smoky Heights sign that I found a picture of on the New Heights website and saved to my Pinterest.
A tater tot hotdish, so similar to the one I made for us our first night we were together, when we were just a hundred feet from here, over by the wildflowers.
Sunrise over the Smokies, for a morning I’ll never forget.
Bowling pins, for the night I never left.
A dark, gritty shot of some chains hanging that makes me blush when I look at it.
The synchronous fireflies.
A motorcycle that looks suspiciously familiar.
Places we both still want to go, like Maine, Rhode Island, and that cute ski town out west he was so interested in.
Dozens of other pictures of adventures we’ve discussed, plus some things we haven’t yet.
A small house out in the woods.
Wedding rings.
Maternity photos.
And a neon sign that says happily ever after.
By the time I stop scrolling, my eyes are so wet I can barely make out the blobs on the screen.
“Fuck, Amelia.” His voice breaks, thick with words unsaid, and he dips his head down to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“I’m ready for life with you,” I tell him. “Whatever adventures we chase, I want them together from here on out.”
“Thank God,” he says, relief flooding his voice. “Because you’re it for me, Amelia. There’s no one else out there for me but you. But I need you to know how much I respect you too. Maybe I need to do better when it comes to your boundaries after what you’ve been through, but?—”
I place a finger over his lips, silencing him.
“I overreacted, and I see that now. I need to learn how to do lifewithyou, not all alone.”
He nods against my finger, and I drop my hand down into his lap so he can speak again.
“It’s not that I think youcan’tdo it on your own. It’s that you don’t have to.”
My eyes fill with tears at the trust he has in me, the confidence in me, and the love to be by my side through it all. The permission to share my burden, when I need to. To be stronger together than we are apart.
I don’t have the words for what that means to me, but I try anyway. “I love you, Weston. I don’t want to do things on my own anymore. I thought being independent was what made me strongest, but I was wrong. I’ve never been stronger than when I’m with you. Neither of usneedseach other, but we’ve chosen each other, and that’s more beautiful than I ever knew love could be.
