As soon as we stopped moving, Leif kissed across my forehead. “I love you, Hayden.”
“I love you, too.”
He sat up with his back against the headboard, pulling me into his arms as he tossed a sheet around me.
I was hit with a wave of exhaustion and tenderness at the same time, from the way Leif curled me against his chest while stroking my back. “Would you like to spend the night?” he asked softly.
“Yes, please.”
His right palm traveled up and down my spine through the sheet, as his left hand wrapped around to stroke my hair. “Do you consider shopping to be a summer activity?” he asked.
“Sure,” I murmured. Then I tipped my head up. “Why?”
“I think we should go shopping soon so I can buy you some clothes you can leave here. That way you can stay over anytime you like, and don’t have to worry about getting ready for work at home.”
Snickering, I burrowed into his shoulder. “What about the times I want you to stay over at my apartment, huh?”
“I have a change of clothes in the trunk of my car,” he said. “No problem.”
Of course he was prepared for anything. “Okay, that’s fair.”
His lips dragged across my forehead. “You know that in a few weeks, I’m going to ask you to move in, right?”
“I was beginning to get that impression, yes.”
“But let’s get through all of the summer things we have to do first. Moving can be a fall thing.”
“Mmm…what other summer things?” I was pretty sure that we had a lot of it covered already.
“There are three different hiking trails I have to show you. More swimming at the beach. The end of August carnival over in Port Kerns. Raspberry picking on my mother’s cousin Darrell’s farm.”
“Raspberry tarts,” I mumbled, starting to lose the trail of what he was saying.
I knew that he would forgive me in the morning if I didn’t catch every detail. I was certainly taking in the most important things.
We were going to make the absolute most out of every day this summer. Every moment together. And every step as we began our new lives together.
Epilogue
_____
Hayden
* Eight Years Later *
Tiptoeing down the stairs toward the loud voices in the living room, it sounded like there was some sort of contest going on. As I peeked around the wall, I had to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle the giggles.
Tyler was having an in-depth discussion with a standing lamp that had been pulled out from the corner to be his co-host. Like father, like son.
At six years old, he was always finding ways to be in charge of a situation. For the past couple of weeks, he’d been hosting shows of all kinds. I’m not sure what kind of a thing he would be hosting in his swimsuit and sun hat, but that likely wasn’t important.
Marta, our four-year-old, was standing on one of the three couch cushions that had been placed in the center of the floor as some sort of contestant podium.
“Hey,” a low voice murmured as Leif snuck up behind me. “What’s the show today?”
Leaning back slightly so I was out of sight, I whispered, “I have no idea. Tyler and the lamp are still discussing the terms of Marta’s competition.”
“See, this is what happens when you limit their computer time,” he grumbled, as his arms slipped around my stomach, pulling my back to his chest.