“I need to find that cabimmediately,” Hunter declares, waving a hand in the air as if one will magically materialize from his enthusiasm, eliciting a husky laugh from me.
He tucks me under his arm, into the warmth and strength of his body. I lean into him, so much adrenaline still coursing through my veins from our adventure at sea that I could burst.
As we stand in the line, waiting for a cab, Hunter presses a kiss to my temple, and I exhale with a smile.
“I think that’s my second favorite sound I’ve ever heard—your happy sigh.”
“Oh, what’s your first favorite sound?” I ask, cocking my eyebrows.
He smirks back at me, “You know number one is yourlaugh.”
We’rebothlaughing when we duck into a cab, fingers interlaced. I rest my head on his shoulder and snuggle into Hunter—myhusband—as we drive back to our hotel. The beginning of a lifetime, however long it may be, of moments like these.
It turns out we get a lot more than one or two miracles in our lives.Everymorning we wake up together is a miracle, I’ve decided. The miracle of another sunrise, of another day to laugh together and love each other and, yes, even argue sometimes—but ultimately tolive. To choose each other and our imperfect but wonderful life together. A daily miracle made all the more exquisite because of the pain we walked through.
Together.
