Blake hooted with laughter as he handed a few bills to the vendor. Then he grasped my face in his hands and kissed me in front of everyone at the Farmer’s Market. Not a peck this time. Nope, this was a toe-curling, dizzying lip-lock. My head was reeling when he released me, and a few bystanders were clapping.
“I love you, Ash. You, my love, are fucking perfect.”
I smiled as I leaned against his chest. “I love you too.”
To be perfect was to be entirely without fault or defect. To be flawless. Honestly, the notion struck me as rather boring nowadays. I no longer cared about earning a personal A every day. It seemed infinitely more special to have someone who knew you and accepted you as is. Someone who found beauty and humor in the small things and gave you room to grow. I’d found that in Blake and I was endlessly grateful.
I wasn’t sure how I got so lucky. Maybe it was luck or maybe it was some cosmic master plan of the universe. Either way, I was grateful to build a life with the man I loved. This was our story to write. Our script. Our beginning.