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My separation date from the Marine Corps was fast approaching, and I had to admit, it was bittersweet. I’d been proud to put on my blues one last time on our wedding day, knowing there were no more birthday balls or ceremonies that would require me to wear them in the future.
But that was okay.
Her family’s shop was starting to thrive again thanks to their hard work over the last year, and I couldn’t be more proud to support her while she enjoyed the fruits of their labor.
“Well, if it helps, I’ve heard the chicks really love a firefighter in uniform, too.”
Hattie threw her head back and laughed, then stepped closer, the petals on her flower crown brushing against the rim of my cover as we kissed.
Then I stepped back, holding out my hand to help her into the car. She took it with a wry smile, easing into the seat, careful not to snag her dress on anything.
Though, of course, I wouldn’t mind helping her fix it if she did.
I got in and winked at her as we took off. “You ready?”
“Ready,” she replied, then frowned when I turned in the opposite direction of the hotel she’d booked for tonight. “Thatcher, wait. This isn’t the way.”
“Yes, it is.”
She looked over her shoulder. “No, the hotel is back that way.”
“I canceled the reservation.”
“What? You canceled it? Where are we going then?”
“You’ll see.”
Her brows knit tightly together, and she eased back into her seat, looking around. We drove a little ways out of town before I turned down a winding country road.
When I slowed to pull onto a tree-lined private street, Hattie sat forward again, putting her hands on the dash. “Thatcher, where are we?”
“Hang on, almost there.”
A moment later, the driveway curved to the right, and a cute white house with a wraparound porch sat at the end. Hattie’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at it. “Two rocking chairs.”
“You didn’t think I’d forget the chairs, did you?”
She let out a choked laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
My new wife had only told me about her dream house one time. We’d been sitting in the back office, her designing a work of art made of flowers for a customer and me doing inventory from that morning’s shipment.
She’d described it in detail, everything she wanted, right down to the rocking chairs that she hoped to one day sit in while she watched her grandkids play.
And even back then, even before we knew what we were going to do when our two years were up, I knew I wanted to be the man to give it to her.
The house, the kids, the grandkids.
All of it.
“Is it a timeshare or a bed-and-breakfast or something?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.
“No. It’s ours. I bought it and had it furnished, so it’s all ready for us.”
“Wait, are we honeymooning here?”
I gulped, hoping it wasn’t a disappointing surprise. “If that’s okay. If not, I’m sure we can book some kind of—”
Before I could finish speaking, she dove for me, grabbing my face and kissing me fiercely. Then she sat back, gazing at the house with fresh joy. “It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”
