Bring Me Back

“Nothing bad.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I just meant that you guys are perfect for each other. I’ve never been around another couple like you guys before. You’re kind of magical to watch because you’re both so in tune with each other. It’s like you’re soulmates or something.”

“Soulmates,” I snort, “yeah, right.”

Hannah nods. “No, she’s right. You guys are…” Her lips twist in thought. “Special.”

I laugh. “And you guys are nuts.”

“Are we?” Casey asks. “Come on, I’ve known you forever, B. You had like two serious boyfriends before Ben and you never had the kind of relationship with them that you do with Ben. It’s different—rare.”

I shake my head, but there is truth to their words. Ben and I are different. It’s funny how perfect we are for each other, but I also believe timing is everything. We went to the same high school but I think if we’d been together then, it wouldn’t have lasted. Sometimes you have to find the patience to wait for good things instead of seeking it out.

We finish our lunch and agree to meet up next week. It’s sort of our thing to meet up at the local coffee shop every week and catch up. Ben joins us when he can—we all we

nt to school together so it’s not like he’s the odd man out.

I end up running a few errands while I’m out. When I arrive home it’s practically dinner time. I park in the driveway and notice that there aren’t any lights on. I frown. I hope Ben isn’t still sleeping. He likes to sleep for a few hours, then get up, and go back to bed at a regular time.

I lock my car and head inside with my few shopping bags.

When I open the front door I notice a few dim lights flickering from the area of the family room.

“Ben?” I call out hesitantly, stepping further into the room. I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel like the dumb girl in a horror movie who is about to get her head chopped off while the people in the audience yell about what an idiot she is. I set my bags down by the stairs and round the corner into the family. “Ben,” I gasp.

He’s pushed the coffee table out of the way and the fluffy rug in the center of the room is covered in what looks like every pillow we have in the house. The flickering lights come from all the candles he has lit. Tall candles, short candles, fat candles, skinny candles: every kind of candle you can imagine. The effect is a glittering kaleidoscope of orange flames.

Ben sits in the center of the pillows, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. There’s a plate with cheese, crackers, and fruit beside him.

“What’s this?” I ask, kicking off my shoes and stepping onto the pillows. I stumble and fall, which makes us both laugh. I end up crawling the rest of the way over to him. When I’m beside him, he finally answers.

“I’m trying to woo you.”

I snort. “Woo me? I’m pretty sure you already do that?” I point to the glittering princess-cut diamond on my finger.

He shrugs. “The wooing should never end. It’s my job to always show you I love you.”

I smile at him. “And what’s my job?” I take the glass from him and he pours a little wine into it and his before re-corking the bottle and setting it aside.

He grins and my beloved dimple winks from his cheek. “Just to love me.”

“I already do,” I tell him, taking a sip of wine.

He leans over and kisses my cheek, then nuzzles his face into my neck. I feel his lips against my skin, when he says, “Then be happy.”

“I am happy.” I twine my fingers in his thick hair and he tilts his head back to me. “I’ve never been happier,” I tell him honestly. “Things aren’t always easy. You’re tired and busy with work and so am I. There’s the stress of bills, and life, but at the end of the day I’m thankful, and that’s what matters. I wouldn’t trade our life for anything.”

He nips playfully at my chin before sitting back. “To us.” He clinks his glass to mine.

“To us,” I echo. “Now, tell me, what is this really all about?”

He ducks his head and smiles almost bashfully. “You said you were ready to try to have a baby—” he sweeps his hand wide “—and this is me trying to be romantic.”

I raise my glass to my lips to try to hide my growing smile. “So you’re not going to fuck me on the kitchen island this time?”

He groans and his blue eyes darken. “You know it turns me on when you say fuck.”

I laugh. “I don’t know why. It’s a word.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but you never say it, and when you do your voice always goes really husky and sultry.”