If you look at it from a different lens, it’s a love story.
Our love story.
And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Epilogue
jett
Two years later…
“Will you tell me where we’re going?” I ask, fiddling with the edges of the blindfold tied around my eyes, a perfect bow pressed against the headrest of the car.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sofía grumbles, the statement ending in a squeak.
I’d fear for my life, but being blindfolded, shoved into the passenger seat of the car, and driven to an undisclosed location is pretty normal for our relationship.
A surprise is spoiled once—over two years ago now, but Sofía’s memory is long—and she takes every precaution to ensure I have no idea where we’re going.
I’m confident she drove us in a square ten minutes ago to try to discombobulate me.
My brain is still foggy from a late night of editing film from our latest project—shining light on every national park in the United States.
Doug, Mateo, and I spent the last two weeks hiking and camping in the Grand Tetons. The mountains were stunning in the early fall, the air crisp, the leaves morphing from greens to golds and reds and oranges.
The invitation was extended to Sofía, but I was turned down with a kiss and a quiet, mumbled “I am never camping again.”
She waved from our front porch with a gleam in her eye as we drove away. The first email from the renovators hit my inbox six hours into our drive. When she moved in last year, I told her it was our home. She could decorate and rearrange as she pleased as long as the surfer painting stayed. So far, the only difference in the decor is the tiny pieces of Sofía.
A bathroom sink covered in skincare.
Glass of water beside a red-light mask.
Bulk quantity of mac and cheese.
Shoes left beside the front door that I trip over every day.
Seems like the building bug finally hit her. The anticipation was overwhelming by the time I returned, and the memory of her joy and excitement to reveal the home office she had designed in the spare guest bedroom in the basement still sits in my top ten surprises.
Two desks, one for each of us.
We broke one of them twenty minutes later after she cried out my name.Ulysses.
“Can I have a hint?” I press. “Or turn the music on? It’s too quiet.”
Her fingers find my thigh, squeezing the muscle. “No. I don’t want the GPS to call out our location.”
“If you give me a clue, I’ll let you have your way with me.”
Sofía cackles, the lovely sound filling the cab. Three pats hit my leg, the next stronger than the last. I wrap her hand between mine, lifting it to my lips and kissing her palm.
“That’s just a taste of what you could have if you tell me.”
“You are ridiculous,” she declares, the statement dripping with amusement. “We’re still in California. There’s your hint.”
I flop back in my seat. “Have your way with me, then. I’m yours for the taking.”
She does not ravage me, instead choosing the boring option of laughing at me. When I’m confident her eyes are on the road, I lift the corner of the blindfold. I don’t care about where we’re going; I want to look at her.
