“You’ve been busy.”
“A little.”
“More than a little.”
She smiles at that and fixes me a portion, handing it over. “Eat,husband.”
Husband.The word settles low in my chest. Like something’s finally clicked into place.
I take the plate from her, holding her gaze. “Thank you,wife.”
We eat as the sun dips lower. We talk, but mostly we watch the light shifting over the water. Orange bleeding into pink, thendeepening into something warmer before the colors slowly begin to fade.
Charlotte sits beside me with her knees drawn in, her ring catching the last of the light whenever she moves her hand.
By the time we head inside, the shelter is dim, the last of the evening fading into that deep blue that disappears quickly once the dark fully takes over.
There’s no guide for this part. No tradition to follow. It’s just the two of us, and the quiet understanding that something has changed. This isn’t the same as before, even if it seems similar on the surface.
I take my time. That’s the one thing I’m sure of. Whatever urgency was there before has eased into something more deliberate. I don’t want to rush any of it.
I draw her closer, lifting my hands to her face and kissing her in the dim light. Slower this time. Softer. My thumbs move along her jaw as she leans into me without hesitation. She exhales against my mouth, her hands settling against my chest.
My hand drifts up, brushing near her hair, catching on one of the flowers woven through it.
She starts to lift a hand, like she’s going to pull them free, but I catch her wrist gently before she can.
“Leave them,” I say against her mouth. “I like them.”
A small smile brushes across her lips before I kiss her again, slower this time, letting the quiet settle around us. Then my hands find the ties of her dress.
I take my time with it—more careful than I am with most things—easing it loose until the fabric slips away. She stands there in the dim light now, the last of the day going, her eyes locking with mine.
I draw her in, cupping her face and tilting it up before I kiss her. Slow at first. My thumbs move along her jaw, her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her ear as she exhales against my mouth, long and steady.
She tips her head back, and I follow instinctively, my mouth brushing her throat, then lower to her collarbone and shoulder. A soft sound slips out of her, completely unguarded, and her hands settle against my shoulders.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
She’s watching me the way she always does—still, focused, like she’s trying to memorize this moment piece by piece. Her hair has started coming loose around the flowers threaded through it, and the dress hangs open where my hands loosened it.
Then the fabric slips.
Slowly, softly, the dress slides down her body until it pools around her bare feet in the sand. She steps out of it without taking her eyes off me.
I just stand there looking at her in the dim shelter.
Then she steps into me.
Her fingers find the front of my jacket, pushing it slowly from my shoulders. The fabric drops onto the sand near our feet. Her hands move to my shirt next, working the buttons open one by one with surprising patience while her eyes stay fixed on what she’s doing.
“You look overdressed.”
A quiet laugh leaves me. “That so?”
“Definitely.”
She pushes the shirt open and slides her palms over my chest, slower now, like she’s taking her time with me the same way I took mine with her.
