There was no audience.
No schedule.
No celebrant waiting to finish a sentence.
Only my husband’s mouth and my hands against the lapels of the suit he still wore.
He kissed me until the cottage, the missing years, and the long road between then and now became one continuous thing.
When we drew apart, his forehead rested against mine.
“I thought today was already perfect,” he whispered.
“It was.”
“This is…”
“Extra.”
He laughed.
I touched his wedding ring.
“Do you know what the memory means?”
“That you trusted me.”
“Yes.”
He waited.
“But I didn’t need it.”
His eyes searched mine.
“I’m glad it came,” I said. “I’ll keep it. I’ll write it down tomorrow.”
My palm settled over his heart.
“But it doesn’t prove anything I didn’t already know.”
Emotion softened his face.
“The man I was felt safe with you.”
I smiled.
“So does your husband.”
Reid closed his eyes.
For one quiet second, he leaned into my hand.
Then he bent and slid one arm behind my knees.
“No.”
“Yes.”
