I looked at him and felt a surge of affection and love. His tie was loosened, his hair slightly mussed from the long day he must have had, and there was still that brilliant smile on his face. Fifteen years together and he could still make my heart skip.
How had I gotten so lucky?
Mark had been my first real boyfriend, back when I was a junior in college and he was in grad school. He’d been awkward then, all long limbs and nervous energy, but so incredibly kind. So genuinely good. And over the years, he’d grown into his looks, into his confidence, and he now looked like a sexy silver fox with his peppered hair and muscular appeal. I’d seen so many PTA moms eyeing him when he served them wine during our monthly meetings at home, and I’d know what they were thinking. But I knew Mark had his eyes only on me. He was faithful, and he loved me. He made me complete.
Our life together was... it was everything I’d ever wanted. This beautiful, cozy house with its creaky floors and the studio Mark had helped me build in the basement. These kids who drove me crazy and filled my heart at the same time. The comfortable rhythm of our days, breakfast chaos, school runs, PTA meets, pottery, homework, dinner, bedtime routines.
It was ordinary and extraordinary all at once.
“Can we celebrate?” Brook asked. “Like, with ice cream?”
Mark laughed. “How about we celebrate with a fancy dinner? I’ll order from that Italian place you like.”
“The one with the breadsticks?” Noah’s eyes went wide.
“The very one.”
The kids cheered, and the evening dissolved into the happy chaos of celebration. Mark ordered enough food to feed an army—lasagna,chicken parmesan, three types of pasta, and yes, extra breadsticks. We ate until we were stuffed, the kids telling Mark about their day in overlapping sentences that barely made sense but somehow conveyed their excitement. Then we all feasted on ice-cream- Vanilla with chocolate sauce, and Mark’s favorite— Rocky Road.
After dinner, Mark started clearing the table. “I’ve got cleanup tonight. You take these monsters upstairs.”
“We’re not monsters!” Brook protested.
“Yeah!” Noah agreed. “We’re... we’re dinosaurs!”
He roared and charged at Mark, who caught him mid-leap. Within seconds, they were on the kitchen floor in a tangle of limbs, Brook joining in with delighted shrieks.
I stood in the doorway watching the three of them, my whole world, and felt something swell in my chest. This. This was happiness. This exact moment.
Eventually, I herded two giggling, over-sugared kids upstairs for baths and bedtime. It took longer than usual—they were wound up from the celebration—but finally, both were tucked in with stories read and teeth brushed.
When I came back downstairs, Mark had transformed the kitchen. The champagne was open and breathing, two glasses waiting. He’d found the fancy cheese board my parents gifted us on our last anniversary, and arranged brie and chocolate-covered almonds—my favorites—on it.
He stood there with his arms open, and I walked into them, feeling his warmth, breathing in his familiar scent, his musky soap that I can recognize from across the room.
“Hi,” he murmured into my hair.
“Hi yourself.”
Then he was kissing me, properly this time, no audience of judgemental children. His lips moved slow and deliberate against mine, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other at the small of my back,pulling me closer. He kissed along my jaw, down to my neck, that spot just below my ear that made my breath pause with anticipation.
“I love you so much,” he whispered against my skin.
“I love you too.” I pulled back just enough to look at his face. “Congratulations, Mr. Head of Marketing of Beauté Éternelle!”
He grinned and handed me a glass of champagne. We clinked them together, the crystal ringing in the quiet kitchen.
“There’s more,” Mark said after we’d each taken a sip.
“More? Better than Head of Marketing?”
“Different.” He set his glass down, suddenly looking nervous. “The position comes with a six-month assignment. In Paris. To launch a new lipstick line.”
My face must have shown my shock because he hurried on. “I know, six months is a long time. But—”
“Six months?” I repeated. “In Paris? By yourself?”
“No!” He shook his head quickly. “No, that’s the thing. Most people in my workplace who take these assignments bring their spouses. We could go together, Amelia. Both of us.”
