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When Barrett stops to fill up with gas, I take the few moments of silence to grab some deep breaths. Just as I am starting to feel relaxed, I hear my phone tweet with a text from Barrett. I ask him if he is lost, trying to be funny. When he says he is lost to me, at first I giggle, because it’s such a corny line, but then I look up and, even though the distance between us, I can see the truth in his eyes. He is lost to me. Just as I am lost to him. This is our chance, our new beginning to remember. To remember all of why we love each other, not just the good parts.
We started the process that night on the living room floor when we poured through photo album after photo album before moving to the computer. Digital cameras are a wonderful invention, but I rarely end up getting pictures printed anymore. We laughed and wept — well, I wept anyway; he teased me for weeping — and smiled, looking through all of our memories. Some were long forgotten, some cherished. Some pictures can only be a memory. Some we can’t wait to relive the memory of again and some we wish we could forget.
But at the end of the night… we remembered.
Barrett surprised me and created a playlist for our car ride. It could have been titled “The Best of the 80s and 90s,” better known to us asWhen We Fell in Love.I can’t stop dancing and singing and laughing at all the amazing songs he found.
I’m serenading him.
He’s serenading me.
WhenTake My Breath Awaycomes through the speakers, our dancing and singing comes to a slow end, and we listen. The first time we danced under the stars together was to this song. It was a perfect summer night, and we’d been dating for almost eight months. Since the day he asked me to wear his jersey to the homecoming football game, we were a couple. There was never an official invitation; it was just implied. I didn’t need him to ask me to be his girlfriend. I knew from the moment I smelled his cologne invading my senses through his jersey that I was his.
He took me out for a date, and we find an empty field, park his pickup, and he leaves the radio on. Well, leaves the radio playing the mixed tape he made for us. Through the horrible speakers and the light of the moon, we stand in the back of the pickup bed and dance. I lean my head on his shoulder, my arms looped around his neck while his are around my waist, pulling me in close. No words are spoken.
Until they are.
“I love you, pretty girl.”
I gasp and lean back slightly so I can look up at him. He doesn’t wait for my response before he continues. “Damn, I’ve been waiting to tell you that for what feels like forever, but you have to know it. I can’t hold it in anymore. I love you so much. Every morning I wake up happy simply because I know you’re mine. Every night I go to bed happy because I’ve seen you. I don’t just love you. I adore you. I crave you. I crave your existence in my life. I crave kissing you below your ear…” He stops just long enough to give me a kiss under my ear that feels so sensual my knees almost buckle. He pulls back, giving me a knowing smile before continuing, “I crave saying hello to you first thing every morning. I crave you being the last person I speak to every night. I crave taking care of you, holding your hand, protecting you. I crave your heart, your mind, your body. Every single thing about you I crave, adore, and love.”
I stare into the eyes of the man who waxed poetic words to me without even trying, just spoken from his heart. The love I feel for him matches the love that I know he feels for me.
With tears in my eyes, I roll up on my toes and kiss him with as much passion and love as I have for him. Which is a lot.
“I love you, too. A whole lot.” He smiles broad after my blunt response, but I continue on. “You say you crave me. I know what you mean. I crave your love, your kisses below my ear, your good-morning phone call, your good-night phone call. I love that you cherish me, make me feel protected, hold my hand and pull me close. I love that you inhale me. I love that you make me laugh every day, help me to feel calm when I’m anxious, and that you listen to me and try to understand my level of crazy.” I give him a watery smile and he chuckles in response — not denying I actually have a level of crazy. “I wish you could feel what I feel. The butterflies you give me every day just by simply loving me, and I pray that I give you the same.”
We stare at each other for a long time, soaking up our words spoken to each other before Barrett reaches down and picks me up, bringing my face closer to his. I rest my hands over his shoulders as my legs dangle between us. His arms are bound under my butt, holding me securely to him. Our breathing is ragged and our eyes are moving over each other’s faces, memorizing every curve and angle.
Barrett takes a few steps backward until his back is against the cab of the pickup.
Our kiss is raw and intense. I come to realize in that moment that kissing is far more intimate than any other physical touch. A kiss is a way to speak without words. Our love is spoken through the kiss, even though our mouths have already breathed the words.
The tape comes to an end but we don’t stop our dance. I know without a doubt that I want his last name to become my own. I have known for a while that I love him. That I am in love with him. But in this moment, in the back of his pickup, in the middle of a field in the dead of summer with only the sound of crickets chirping, cicadas singing, and the fireflies flirting around our heads, do I realize my depth of love that I have for this guy. This boy who has been slowly becoming a man in front of my very eyes my entire life. I am going to watch him grow old. He is going to watch me grow old.
Before I know what is happening, we had come to a stop in front of a ski lodge. My trip down memory lane came to an end, but the feeling of the memory still lingers in my heart. Forever. Knowing we have plans to go to a cabin, I look over at Barrett in confusion.
“Just trust me. This is just a little pit stop, yeah? Before we seclude ourselves from the world.” He grins cheekily. It is one of his most endearing smiles and I love it. He doesn’t have boyish dimples, but his smile lights up his entire face, and his eyes shine with happiness. A happiness I haven’t seen in a while.
He puts the car in park, reaches into the back seat, and grabs our coats. “You’re gonna need your shoes on for this,” he says with a smile in his voice before he opens the door with the car still running. A young man comes out of the lodge entrance and catches the keys being tossed at him while Barrett rounds the front of the car. He opens my door, takes my hand in his, and looks down at my bare feet and frowns. I’m confused by what’s happening, but more than that, just a little in awe. He planned things, from the playlists on the way up to our stop along the way, he’s showing a side of him that I haven’t seen in a long time.
I didn’t realize that I missed dating my husband.
He reminded me that I did.
He reminded me that I loved falling in love with him the first time.
He leans down and grabs my black ballet flats and slides them onto my feet then picks up my purse from the floor. He takes my hand in his and gently pulls me out of the car. As soon as my feet hit the ground, he wraps his arm around me and shuffles me inside. The main lodge is absolutely breathtaking, everything I picture a ski lodge to look like. Oversized, dark brown leather furniture is paired with soft fabric pillows. A large chandelier hangs from the middle of the room made entirely of antlers, and large wooden beams stretching across the vaulted ceiling. What look like antique skis and ski poles hang on the walls and in the far corner there’s a large stone fireplace with wood crackling, giving off a cozy warmth.
Barrett guides us through the entrance and into another section of the lodge. He opens the door for me while I’m still rubber necking, not paying attention to where he’s leading me. Everywhere I look, it’s absolutely beautiful.
“Tess and Barrett Ryan, we have an appointment for a couple’s massage,” he says with all the confidence in the world. I don’t think Barrett has ever stepped foot into a spa, let alone a salon. He gets his hair cut at a small barbershop in town, so to say this is a bit of a stretch for Barrett’s comfort zone is putting it mildly, but to look at him now, he’s the picture of relaxed. His smile stretches widely across his face, his right hand on my lower back, rubbing small circles with his thumb.
Somewhere along the way, he handed off our coats and my purse, to whom I have no idea.
The woman at the front desk nods her head in agreement that we do, in fact, have an appointment.
“Have a seat right over there,” she says as she points to some leather seats along the wall. “Can I get you some tea or water?”
