Chapter 10

 Chapter Ten:  North To Wonder

Day 1 — Anchorage: Up, Up and Away

The first four hours of the flight passed with an easy, unspoken rhythm—the kind that only happens when two people are completely at ease with one another.  Mark dozed in short stretches, the hum of the plane a familiar lullaby. When he was awake, he read a few chapters of his book, the pages rising and falling gently with his breathing. There was no urgency in him today, no sense of needing to do anything. He had traveled enough to know that sometimes the best part of a journey was simply letting it unfold.  Beside him, Kimmy was wide awake.  Her screen glowed softly as A Walk in the Clouds played, and Mark noticed—without even trying—how completely she disappeared into it. Every so often she inhaled sharply, or pressed her fingers to her mouth. Once, when the emotion crested just enough, she paused the movie and dabbed at the corner of her eyes.  Mark reached over and touched her arm gently.

She looked up at him, smiling through it.  “You’re so adorable,” he whispered.  Kimmy laughed softly, leaning into him, and he kissed her cheek—warm, easy, familiar. Inside, he thought how much he loved this about her. She didn’t hold back her feelings. She never had. And now, she didn’t have to.  About an hour and a half from Anchorage, Mark half-woke from a doze and instinctively turned toward the window.

The mountains were there.

Snow-covered, immense, layered in ridges that looked almost unreal, like a painting brought to life. Glaciers cut through valleys in pale blues and whites, ancient and unmoving. He stared for a moment, still every time—no matter how many times he’d seen them.  He nudged Kimmy gently.

“Look.”

She turned, and for a heartbeat, nothing happened.  Then she gasped.

“Oh my—”

Her voice carried just enough to draw glances from across the aisle, but she didn’t care. She leaned across Mark, pointing excitedly, nearly draping herself over him as one mountain gave way to another.

“There—oh, look at that one—oh wow—oh my…”

Mark chuckled softly. “Honey, people are going to wonder what’s happening here.”  She blushed, embarrassed only for half a second, and sat up—but not all the way. For the next forty-five minutes, Alaska revealed itself like a slow-moving film reel: peaks, ice, shadowed valleys, frozen rivers. Kimmy sat back eventually, almost reverent.  “It can’t get any better than that,” she whispered.

Mark smiled. “Oh baby,” he said quietly, “it’s just started.”

At baggage claim, Mark’s suitcase appeared first. Kimmy pointed. “There’s mine!”

Mark shook his head. “No, honey. That one’s mine.”

She blinked, then laughed. “Oh. Right. They look exactly the same.”

Mark lifted the bag, feeling a small, private satisfaction settle in his chest. Mr. and Mrs. Love. Matching luggage. Matching lives. It felt good—felt right—to be so alike in all the ways that mattered.  They gathered with the other Holland America guests under the sign held by a representative. Kimmy opened the information packet immediately, flipping pages with wide-eyed excitement.

“Oh Mark, look at this—oh, and this!”

Mark didn’t interrupt. He stepped behind her instead, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin lightly near her temple.  “We’re here, honey,” he said softly. “We’ve arrived.”  Kimmy inhaled deeply, as if grounding herself. “I never thought I’d do this,” she whispered—half to him, half to herself.  Inside her head, the thought completed itself: And I’m doing it with the love of my life. Now we truly begin together.

The Aviator Hotel wasn’t extravagant, but it was warm and welcoming. When they stepped into their room on the fifth floor, Kimmy went straight to the window.

She squealed.  “LOOK!”

The mountains framed the city in the distance, snow-dusted and impossibly close. She stood there grinning, hands pressed to the glass, and Mark watched her for a long moment, joy looks beautiful on her.  They changed and headed out for dinner, the conversation tumbling forward—what they’d seen, what was coming, how unreal it all felt. Eventually, the talk softened.  “This is our first trip,” Kimmy said quietly. “As a married couple.”

Mark nodded. “I know.”

They didn’t rush the moment. They let it sit between them like something sacred.  Later, back in the room, the day finally caught up with them. Kimmy stood at the window one last time, staring out at the mountains silhouetted against the evening sky. Mark turned off the lights, leaving only the glow from outside.  She reached for his hand without looking away.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For this,” she replied simply. “For us.”  Mark squeezed her fingers. They stood there together—quiet, steady, full—before turning in for the night.

Tomorrow, Alaska would open itself even wider.  But for now, this was enough.

Day 2 — Scenic Train to Seward: The Movie In My Mind

The lobby buzzed softly when they arrived just before eight — not loud, but alive in that anticipatory way that only happens when everyone knows they’re about to see something extraordinary. Jackets were zipped, scarves adjusted, coffee cups clutched like small anchors of familiarity.  Their luggage had already been tagged and lined neatly near the door, waiting its turn for the bus.  Kimmy stood close to Mark, her arm tucked easily into his, eyes moving everywhere at once.  “This feels official,” she whispered. “Like… we’re really doing this.”  

Mark smiled down at her. “We really are.”

At the check-in table, the guide scanned their names, then looked up.  “Mr. and Mrs. Love,” Mark said easily, like he’d been saying it his whole life.  Kimmy squeezed his arm hard.  The guide’s eyebrows lifted for half a second — just long enough for that instinctive human math to flicker — then his face broke into a broad grin.  “Well, congratulations,” he said warmly, clapping Mark on the shoulder. “Honeymoon, huh? You’re going to love this. You picked a good way to start.”  Kimmy beamed. Mark felt something settle in his chest — pride, gratitude, disbelief — all braided together.

On the train, the glass dome arched overhead like an invitation to look up, to look out, to forget everything else. They slid into a table for four, but when the train lurched gently into motion, the other seats remained empty.  Mark glanced at the window seat, then at Kimmy.  “Here,” he said, standing. “You take it.”

She shook her head immediately. “No, no — you—”

“I insist,” he said, already moving. “This is all for you, baby.”

She didn’t hesitate again. She slid into the seat, pressed her palms lightly against the glass, and exhaled like someone who had just stepped into a dream they hadn’t dared name.  The first few minutes passed quietly — trees, open stretches, the rhythm of movement. Then the train curved.

Water appeared.

Mountains rose beyond it — vast, silent, impossibly still.

Kimmy stopped breathing.  “Oh,” she whispered.

Then, louder, involuntary, full of awe: “Oh my God.”  Her hand flew to her mouth. Across the aisle, someone smiled knowingly.  Mark watched her, not the view. He’d seen Alaska before — many times — but today it felt different.  Not diminished. Sharpened.  This wasn’t just landscape. It was a declaration.  As the train glided between a mountain wall and the pale blue edge of a glacier, Mark felt something shift.  The sense wasn’t loud — it was grounding. Like the land itself was saying: This is where you belong now. This is what choosing looks like.  He leaned over and kissed the top of Kimmy’s head as she murmured softly, almost to herself.

“Oh wow… oh wow…”

She turned to him, eyes shining. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “For what, baby?”

“For you,” she said. “For this. For us.” She swallowed. “It’s like… it’s like a movie in my mind.”

Mark nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

When the waiter came by, both ordered hot chocolate without discussion. Sandwiches followed, though neither seemed in a hurry to eat. Kimmy stared out the window, transfixed, until Mark finally nudged her gently.  “Honey,” he said. “Your food.”  She blinked. “Oh — right.” She laughed softly. “I can’t believe this. I never thought I’d get here. Never thought I’d do this.”  Mark nodded, eyes still on the view. “It is spectacular.”

But it wasn’t Alaska he was thinking about.

When the ship appeared — massive, elegant, framed perfectly by snow-capped peaks and steel-gray water — Kimmy gasped again.  “Oh, it’s huge,” she said, half laughing. “I didn’t think it would be that big.”

Mark grinned. “She’s a beauty.”

At check-in, the agent scanned their passports, paused, then smiled.  “Mr. and Mrs. Love,” she said warmly. “So you’re our newlyweds.”  Kimmy nearly bounced. “Yes! It’s my first time — I’m so excited — I can’t wait—”

Mark waited patiently, then added with deliberate pleasure, “It’s my first time… with my wife.”  Kimmy slid her arm around his waist and pulled him closer. The agent handed over the keys with a knowing smile.  Their stateroom was larger than Kimmy expected — light-filled, welcoming, theirs.  “This is our bed,” she said reverently, flopping backward onto it with a laugh. “Our bed. Mr. and Mrs. Love.”  She pulled Mark down beside her and kissed him deeply.  “If they made a movie about this,” she said breathlessly, “people would say it’s unrealistic.”  

Mark smiled. “And they’d be wrong.”

They unpacked slowly, savoring the novelty of it — the way everything felt lighter when it belonged to them. Eventually the afternoon faded into evening, and the soft knock of dinner time settled over the room.  Kimmy stood in front of the mirror, cardigan draped over one arm, studying herself like the answer might appear if she stared long enough.  “What to wear,” she murmured. “What to wear…”

Mark was already dressed — his favorite white sweater pulled neatly over a navy polo, khaki pants pressed just enough to look intentional without trying too hard. He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her with a small, satisfied smile.  “Honey,” he said, nodding toward the cardigan. “Wear that one.”  She glanced at it. “This one?” she asked, half amused. “The one with the missing button?”  

“That one,” he said without hesitation. “I love how you look in it.”

She laughed softly. “You just like that it’s a little… imperfect.”

Mark stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on her hips. “No,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I like that it’s you. And I want to walk into that dining room with you on my arm and have people turn and think, wow, look at them.”  Her cheeks flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he said, smiling. “I want every guy in there to shake his head and think, how did he get her?”

Kimmy paused, then slipped the cardigan on, smoothing it instinctively. “Really? You really want me to wear this?”

“Yes,” he said gently. “And the cute skirt.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, then called out, “What about my hair? It just doesn’t look… normal.”

Mark chuckled. “Put it in a ponytail. You’re adorable that way.”

She caught her reflection again — cardigan slightly open, necklace catching the light, hair pulled back just enough to feel effortless. Inside her chest, something warm bloomed.  He really loves me, she thought. He really does.  She stepped back into the room, and Mark’s smile widened in quiet approval.  The dining room buzzed with low conversation and soft music, but Kimmy hardly noticed. She walked beside Mark, his arm secure around her waist, feeling like she was floating somewhere between disbelief and delight.  Mark noticed the subtle glances — the way heads turned, eyes lingered — and he squeezed her just a little closer.  That’s right, he thought. She’s with me.  Dinner unfolded slowly, course by course, each one more elegant than the last. Kimmy listened, smiled, asked questions — but her attention flicked constantly between the room, the view beyond the windows, and Mark beside her, grounding her in every moment.  Then the dessert arrived.  A dome of meringue, lightly toasted, set down with quiet ceremony. “Ba ked Alaska,” the server announced.

Kimmy’s eyes widened. “That’s… Baked Alaska?”

Mark watched her expression soften into wonder.  “First time?”  She nodded slowly. “I didn’t even think about that.  Eating Baked Alaska… in Alaska.”  She took her first bite and paused, eyes closing for just a second.

“Oh,” she whispered. “That’s… that’s perfect.”  Mark smiled, resting his chin lightly in his hand as he watched her. The sweetness, the warmth, the contrast — it all mirrored exactly how this place felt to her. How life felt right now.  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “This whole day feels like that,” she said softly. “Unexpected. Beautiful.”  

Mark nodded. “That’s Alaska.”

But what he was really thinking was: That’s us.  Later, standing on deck as the ship slipped away from the harbor, Mark rested his chin near her temple.  “Here we go,” he said quietly.

Kimmy smiled. “Into wonder.”

That night, curled against him, she asked sleepily, “Tell me a story.”  Mark kissed her hair and whispered, “There was a man who went to dinner with the most beautiful girl he’d ever known…”

She smiled — already drifting.  “And she asked him,” Mark whispered, “for one more drink… and changed his life forever.”  Kimmy’s breathing deepened.  Mark held her close and let Alaska — and love — carry them forward.

Day 3 — Hubbard Glacier: Ice, Ice Baby

Mark woke slowly, the way you do when you’re already half aware that something extraordinary is waiting for you.  Kimmy’s head rested on his chest, her hair warm against his skin, but she wasn’t asleep. Her body was still, relaxed — yet every few seconds he heard it.

“Ohhhh…”  A pause.  “…wow.”  Mark smiled without opening his eyes.  Another quiet intake of breath.  Another reverent whisper.  He finally stirred, tilting his head just enough to see where her gaze was fixed — through the sliding glass doors, out onto a world of blue and white and gray that didn’t look real.  “You’re awake,” he murmured.

She nodded slightly, not taking her eyes off the view. “I’ve been awake for a while,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to miss anything.”  Mark kissed the top of her head. “You won’t,” he said softly. “But we do need breakfast.”  

She turned to him, eyes bright. “Is it really today?”

He chuckled. “It’s really today. And if we don’t eat, you’re going to forget food exists entirely.”  She laughed softly, still watching the view. “I keep thinking it’s going to stop being… this.”

“It won’t,” Mark said. “But breakfast will. And we need to eat.”

She groaned dramatically but rolled onto her side to look at him. “You’re very practical for a man floating past a glacier.”  

“That’s why you married me.”

She smiled at that—slow, content—and finally pushed herself upright. “Okay. Breakfast. But then we’re doing whatever it is that gets us closer to that.”  Breakfast passed in a pleasant blur — hot coffee, warm pastries, quiet excitement humming between them. Kimmy barely noticed what was on her plate, her thoughts already racing ahead.  After breakfast, the stateroom was a flurry of layers.  Kimmy stood in front of the mirror, holding up a fleece, then a jacket, then a scarf. “How warm is very warm?”

“Warmer than you think,” Mark said, already pulling on his heavier coat. “We’ll be on open water, close to the glacier. Wind chill drops fast.”  She nodded, adding another layer. “I don’t want to be cold and distracted.”

“You won’t be distracted,” he said gently. “But you might be cold.”

She smiled and wrapped the scarf around her neck. “Okay. Layers.”

They headed to the theater, checked in, and were soon grouped with a small number of guests—just twenty-five—being guided down to the catamaran.  As they stepped aboard, the guide glanced at his list.  “Mark and Kimmy Love?”

Mark nodded. “That’s us.”  Kimmy squeezed Mark’s arm.  They boarded, zipped into warm jackets  The engines roared to life. The boat shot forward like a living thing — wind tearing across the deck, cold snapping at exposed skin. Kimmy laughed, half exhilarated, half stunned, gripping the rail with one hand and Mark’s arm with the other and within moments they were skimming across the water, the wind slicing sharply against their faces.  “This feels like a movie,” she shouted over the wind.

Mark laughed. “Just wait.”

“Oh my God,” she shouted over the wind. “It’s cold.”

Mark laughed. “Told you.”

Then the engines slowed.  The sound dropped away.  And silence took over — vast, heavy, almost sacred.  The glacier rose before them, impossibly tall, impossibly still. The air felt thick with waiting.  Kimmy whispered, barely audible, “The silence is… deafening.”

A crack echoed across the ice — sharp, sudden.

Then another.

Mark leaned close. “Listen.”

The world seemed to hold its breath.  Suddenly, a thunderous roar split the air as a massive section of ice calved away from the glacier’s face, crashing into the water with explosive force. Waves rolled outward, rocking the boat gently but unmistakably.

Kimmy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Mark leaned in close. “Thirty stories tall,” he said softly. “And it goes about that far down under the water too.”

Her eyes widened even more. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

He shook his head. “It’s just big.”

They stood arm in arm at the rail, watching the glacier breathe and shift and crack, time unfolding at a pace completely indifferent to them.  Kimmy felt it all—the cold, the scale, the sound—but what overwhelmed her most was the feeling of standing there with him. This place. This day. This life.  Mark felt it too. Life was vast—unpredictable, humbling—but in that moment, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.  They asked another couple nearby to take their photo.  When Kimmy looked at the image on the screen, she gasped again. “Ohhh… wow. Look at the glacier!”

Mark gently pulled her closer. “Look at us.”

She turned, eyes softening, and wrapped her arms around his neck as the engines revved back to life and the catamaran surged away.  

That evening was formal night.  Mark adjusted his jacket, open-neck shirt crisp beneath it, while Kimmy stepped out in black — elegant, simple, devastating.  He stopped short. “Isn’t that…?”  

She smiled knowingly. “The night we met.”  

His grin widened. “Tonight’s worthy of a repeat.”

Dinner was warm and celebratory, conversation drifting easily from the day to what still lay ahead. But the quiet smiles between them said more than words.  Later, back in the stateroom, Mark wore an Alaska T-shirt. Kimmy slipped into the shirt.  She talked — about the ice, the sound, the size, the way it felt like the earth breathing — until suddenly she didn’t.  Mark glanced down. She was asleep again, curled against him, hand resting over his heart.  He smiled to himself.  The guide had said the glacier was wondrous.

It was.  But Mark knew something — someone — even more so.  He kissed her gently.  Kimmy stirred, half asleep, and whispered, “Wow.”

Day 4 — Glacier Bay

The morning arrived without urgency.  No alarms. No schedules tugging at them. Just the soft, steady glide of the ship and the pale Alaskan light seeping through the curtains like a promise kept.  They sat at breakfast near the window, plates warm, coffee steaming, the world outside unfolding at a pace that felt almost intentional—like it knew today was meant to be slow.  Kimmy stirred her coffee absently, eyes drifting toward the water. “I still can’t believe yesterday,” she said softly. “Hubbard… it felt unreal.”  Mark smiled, reaching for her hand across the table. “That was about two hours,” he said. “Today?” He glanced out the window, then back at her. “Today lasts all afternoon.”  She nodded, but her gaze lingered on him now, not the view.  Inside her head, a quiet thought surfaced—How could it possibly be better than that?  Then, without warning, another answered it just as gently: Because it already is.

Because this—this—was better.

Later, as the ship eased into Glacier Bay, they stood together on their veranda, the air crisp but kind. The Reed Glacier slipped past them first, smaller, delicate in comparison, like a whispered introduction.  “Oh wow,” Kimmy breathed. Mark, “That’s the small one.”

He chuckled. “Come on,” he said, tugging gently at her hand. “Let’s go up top.”  They pulled chairs right up to the railing on the open deck, hooded sweatshirts zipped halfway, the sun warm enough to take the edge off the breeze. The sky was impossibly blue—clear in that rare way that felt almost staged.  Snow-capped mountains rose around them like guardians. Waterfalls traced white ribbons down dark rock faces, each one fleeting, each one unforgettable.  A sister Holland America ship glided past them in the distance, slow and respectful, like two old friends nodding as they passed.

Then Kimmy saw it.  “There,” she whispered.  Margerie Glacier.  It rose in the distance, massive and luminous, its face a mosaic of blues and whites—soft powder here, sharp crystalline edges there—carved by time and patience and forces too large to name.  As the ship slowed and then stopped, the silence deepened.  “Look how far back it goes,” Kimmy said, her voice barely more than breath. “It disappears into the mountain.”

Mark stood behind her now, arms wrapped around her, his chin resting lightly near her temple. “Isn’t it spectacular?” he said. “It’s not just that it’s right there. It’s that it goes on and on. Like it never really ends.”  He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It feels… endless. Like a forever kind of wonder.”  Kimmy leaned back into him and turned her head, meeting his eyes.

“Wow,” she said.

Mark smiled, assuming she meant the glacier. “Right? I told you—it’s stunning.”

She shook her head slowly.

“No,” she said. “You.”

The ship began its slow, deliberate turn—one full circle—so every side could have its moment. But for Kimmy, the view had already settled.  Later, they found a quiet table in the Pinnacle Café, sunlight spilling through the plate-glass windows as they shared a light lunch. Kimmy kept glancing back toward the glacier, as if afraid it might vanish the moment she looked away.  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed,” she said.  Mark watched her instead of the view, thinking how strange and perfect it was that something so vast could make the space between two people feel even smaller.  When the ship finally began to pull away, they returned to their stateroom, the mood calm, reflective—like leaving a cathedral.  Kimmy turned toward the closet to change when Mark suddenly moved past her, sliding the veranda door open.  “Honey,” he said quickly, excitement in his voice.  “Hurry. Come out here.”

She stepped outside.

The glacier filled the frame of their balcony……closer now than at any other moment that day.  Icy blue, immense, glowing.  Kimmy froze.  Mark turned so his back was to the glacier, his entire attention on her.  She stepped into him without thinking, arms looping around his neck.  “What did you think of Glacier Bay?” he asked softly. “Pretty special, right?”  She didn’t look back at the ice. Not once.

She looked only at him.

A long pause stretched between them—thick with meaning, with gratitude, with something too full for words.  Mark prompted gently, smiling. “Right?”  Her eyes held his, steady and sure, reaching somewhere deep inside him.  “So… so special,” she said. And in that moment, with the glacier standing witness behind them and the ship carrying them forward, nothing else needed to be said.

Day 5 — Skagway

History, footing, first land again.

They woke to stillness.  Not the moving stillness of the sea, but the kind that comes when a place has been waiting a long time to be noticed.  Kimmy stirred first and slid quietly out of bed, padding to the window. The ship was docked now, settled. Outside, Skagway sat tucked into the cradle of mountains like a secret kept on purpose—wooden buildings, narrow streets, the kind of town that looked small only because the land around it was so impossibly large.  She pressed her hand to the glass and smiled.  “Mark,” she said softly.  He rolled toward her, already awake, already knowing by the tone of her voice that something good waited on the other side of the window. He joined her, arm slipping naturally around her waist.  “First land day,” he murmured.  She nodded. “It feels… grounding.”

They dressed and went ashore early, the air crisp but gentle, the kind that woke you up without startling you. They found a small café just off the main street—nothing fancy, just warm coffee, fresh pastries, and locals who nodded hello like it mattered.  Kimmy wrapped both hands around her mug and looked out at the mountains rising straight from the edge of town.  “How does this even exist?” she whispered.  Mark smiled. He’d asked himself the same question the first time he’d been here. He didn’t answer. Some things were better left unanswered.  They wandered back toward the ship after breakfast, unhurried. Lunch would come later. The afternoon held its own promise.

Back in the stateroom, the morning slowed.  Kimmy settled at the small desk by the window, laptop open, sunlight spilling across the surface as she checked emails from her online school. The mountains framed her reflection in the glass. Mark lounged on the sofa, book in hand, the ship quiet beneath them.  “This is such a great story,” he said after a while, lifting his eyes from his Dan Brown book. “You’ll really enjoy it when you get time. Lots of symbols. Hidden meanings.”  Kimmy barely turned. “Uh huh,” she said, fingers still moving.  Then the words landed.  She paused. Slowly, she leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the mountains outside. That’s what he’s good at, she thought. Seeing meaning where other people see noise. Crafting something deeper out of what looks ordinary.

Mark, already back in his book, added absentmindedly, “Really good stuff.”

She smiled to herself.

After lunch, they dressed for the excursion. Kimmy hesitated in front of the mirror, layering and un-layering, uncertain.  “How warm is warm?” she asked.  “Dress for cold,” Mark said gently. “Trust me. They’ll give us gear, but this one sneaks up on you.”

They met the group ashore and boarded the small catamaran, the engine rumbling to life as they pulled away. Waterfalls traced silver lines down the mountains. The air sharpened as speed increased, wind whipping across the deck.  The catamaran beached gently against a narrow strip of shoreline, the engine idling low as the guides called out instructions. Kimmy stepped off carefully, boots crunching against wet stones, the smell of cold earth and pine rising around them. A cluster of small wooden buildings sat tucked into the trees — practical, weathered, like they’d grown there rather than been built.  Inside, the guides moved efficiently, handing out gear. Kimmy slipped into the heavy boots, surprised by their weight, then shrugged into a thick jacket. Mark helped adjust the straps on her life vest, fingers quick and practiced, tugging once more than necessary just to be sure.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes already wandering toward the forest. “This feels like… an adventure.”

“That’s because it is,” he said, smiling.

They were led into the woods in a loose line, the trail narrow but well-worn. Moss carpeted the ground, softening their footsteps. Ferns brushed their legs as they walked, the canopy above filtering the light into a quiet, green hush. The guide drifted back toward them, asking gentle questions — where they were from, how long they’d been married. “Oh,” he said when they answered, breaking into a wide grin. “Newlyweds. First time here?”

Kimmy beamed. “First time.”

Mark added, without thinking but with unmistakable pride, “First time here… with my wife.”  The guide’s smile deepened. “You picked a good day for it.”

They emerged from the trees to find canoes waiting at the water’s edge — long, narrow, purposeful. The group split up, three canoes total, each with a guide. Mark steadied the boat as Kimmy stepped in, hands braced on the sides, laughter bubbling out as she settled into the seat. They paddled at first, oars dipping rhythmically into the water. Kimmy felt strong, connected — to the boat, to Mark, to the quiet hum of everyone working together. After a short while, the guide called out for them to rest their oars and switched on the small motor.  Kimmy leaned back, relaxing. “I think I overdressed,” she said, loosening her jacket slightly. “I’m kind of warm.”

Mark glanced at her, eyes twinkling. “Just wait.”  The ride slowed.  The air changed. And then Davidson Glacier appeared, curling back into the mountain like something alive.  Kimmy laughed, then tucked closer to Mark. “Okay—you were right.”

The engine cut.

Silence fell—thick, reverent.

Kimmy’s breath caught. “Oh my…”  The guide explained quietly, voice almost swallowed by the scale of it all. They would go ashore. Onto the ice.  Mark hadn’t told her.

When she realized, her jaw dropped. “ON the glacier?”

He nodded, eyes never leaving her face. “That’s right, baby.”

They moved closer. Colder. The air seemed to press against them now.  They stepped off gingerly, boots crunching against ancient ice. The glacier stretched away from them, disappearing into the mountains, its true size unknowable.  Kimmy knelt and dipped a cup into the clear blue crevasse. “It’s like drinking… ice,” she laughed, breathless.  Before they left, the guide offered to take a picture.  “Yes, please,” Kimmy said immediately.  The guide suggested they take off the life vests for the photo.  Mark wrapped his arm around her waist. She looped her arms around his neck. The guide chuckled as he framed the shot.  “The newlyweds,” he said. “It’s not obvious.”

They laughed—because it was. Dinner that night was casual on the top deck in the Pinnacle Cafe. They watched Skagway slip away through the windows as the ship pulled out.  “So,” Mark asked, setting his fork down, “what did you think?”

Kimmy watched the sunset paint the mountains gold. “People live here all year,” she said softly. “Can you imagine?”  Mark watched her instead of the view. Once, he thought, I couldn’t imagine this kind of life at all. She turned back to him and caught his smile.

“I know,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Me too.”

And just like that, the ship carried them onward—together, certain, exactly where they were meant to be.

Alaska for Christmas

The ship had slipped into Juneau early, the way it always seemed to—quietly, almost respectfully—like it didn’t want to wake the town before it was ready.  Mark woke just after seven, his internal clock finally synced. Kimmy was still asleep, curled into him, her hand resting warm and certain on his chest. He lay there for a moment longer than necessary, breathing her in, thinking how natural this felt now—how she slept toward him, not just beside him.  Man, I love how she sleeps so close to me.  Carefully, he eased her hand away, kissed her hair, and slipped out of bed.  On the top deck, the air was crisp and clean, the kind that made you inhale deeper without thinking. He grabbed two coffees and then paused at the railing. Juneau sat across the water, tucked neatly into the arms of snow-dusted mountains, lights still soft, the town not quite awake.  Today, he thought. Maybe today the whales will cooperate.  Back in the stateroom, Kimmy hadn’t moved. Mark smiled, stepped out onto the veranda, and opened his book—Dan Brown waiting patiently, like it always did.  A few minutes later, the sliding door whispered open.

Sleepy, tousled-haired Kimmy blinked at him. “What time is it?”

“About eight,” Mark said. “Go back to bed. We don’t have to do anything until four.” She turned to comply… then froze. Hands on his shoulders. Eyes wide.  “Oh.”  Then—brighter.

“Oh!”  She glanced past him. “Are we here?”

Mark laughed. “Yes, sweetheart. We’re here.”  She clapped her hands once, softly but decisively.  “You said today we could walk around the shops.”

Mark sighed, already smiling. “And I also said we’re not spending a lot.”

“I’ve got a list,” she declared—and marched off to get dressed.

After breakfast, they stepped off the ship and into Juneau, the street directly across lined with shops like a cheerful invitation. Two stores in, Kimmy stopped short in front of a Christmas shop, eyes lighting up.  “Oh Mark… an ornament. We have to get an ornament. For our first trip.”  She tilted her head. Sparkle. Half-pout, half-smile.  Mark groaned. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing,” he said. “You know—that. The tilt. The eyes. The smile that makes it impossible for me to say no.”

Kimmy grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Oh really?”  And bounded inside.  Thirty minutes later, Mark emerged carrying two bags—one with an ornament, the other with matching long-sleeve Alaska shirts. Kimmy led the way, energized and glowing.  “Won’t it be perfect?” she said. “Right under Mickey and Minnie. And I have the best idea.”

Mark winced. “More shopping?”

“No.” She paused, then added sweetly, “But you would let me if I asked, wouldn’t you?”

Sigh. “You’re doing it again.”

She hooked her thumbs proudly into her chest. “Okay, listen. After lunch, we put on our new shirts. We go to the top deck. We get someone to take our picture—with the harbor and the mountains behind us. And we turn it into a Christmas card.”  She softened, emotion slipping into her voice.  “Our first Christmas card… as Mr. and Mrs.”  Mark pulled her into his arms without a word, holding her close as the idea settled in his chest.  How does she keep doing this?  How does she always turn the dial up one more notch?  Kimmy rested against him, smiling to herself.  I knew he’d love it.  Hand in hand, they headed back toward the ship—carrying bags, plans, and one more memory already destined to become tradition.

Lunch and Whales

Lunch on the top deck barely registered as food to Kimmy. It was fuel—necessary, incidental, and entirely secondary to what was happening in her head.  She talked the whole time.  “Okay, so first we hold hands—no wait, what if I’m in front of you and you’re behind me like this?” She twisted in her chair to demonstrate. “But then you can’t see the ring. Or the necklace. Oh—maybe I wear my hair down? No, ponytail. But that’s not how I usually wear it. What if we’re both looking off to the side? Or no, no—looking at each other.”  Mark took a sip of his drink and blinked.  Inside his mind, it felt like someone was flipping channels with a remote—click, click, click—never quite landing long enough to settle.  And then he smiled.  I love how she does this.  He didn’t interrupt. He never did when she got like this—when excitement spilled out of her faster than she could organize it. It was one of the things that made him love her the way he did.

Eventually, a plan emerged—two poses. Just two.  They changed and headed back up to the top deck, the harbor behind them framed by snow-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds that made everything feel closer, more intimate.  For the first pose, Kimmy stood slightly in front of Mark, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist. She held her ring hand gently against his forearm, not displaying it so much as including it. Their heads leaned together, eyes both turned to the camera.  The man taking the photo handed the phone back.  Mark loved it immediately. Kimmy squinted. “Hmm. I love it—but can we do one more?”  The man chuckled and took the phone again. His wife leaned in and whispered, “They’re so cute.” 

He shook his head softly. “No,” he whispered back. “They’re so in love.”  The second pose came naturally—Kimmy turned into Mark, arms around his neck, her forehead resting against his. They weren’t smiling for the camera. They were smiling at each other.

Click.

Kimmy looked at the screen and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all morning. “That’s it.”  Mark’s chest ached in the best way. His heart felt like it might split open from joy.

Later, as they boarded the shuttle for the whale excursion, the sky shifted—gray layered over gray, heavy but calm. The young guide spoke with practiced enthusiasm about Alaska, about migration patterns, about luck.  Mid-sentence, lightning cracked in the distance.  The guide stopped short. “I’ve lived here twenty-five years and I’ve seen lightning once,” he said, laughing in disbelief. “That was—wow. And speaking of wow—OH LOOK!”

A massive whale breached high into the air, its body twisting before crashing back into the water with a thunderous splash.  The boat erupted in gasps.  Kimmy turned to Mark, eyes impossibly wide. “I had my camera on video,” she breathed. “I got that. Did you see that?!”

Mark stared at the water, stunned. In all his trips—seven of them—he’d never seen a breach like that.  All he could say was, “Wow, honey.”  

They cruised on, spotting tails and spouts, the magic lingering even as the adrenaline settled.  And then—The water beside the boat began to churn.

Bubbles. Dozens of them. The guide shouted, “Bubble feeding!”  Whales surfaced together—so many of them it felt unreal—mouths open, bodies rolling, water exploding around them in a coordinated, ancient dance.  Mark lifted his phone to record, then caught sight of Kimmy out of the corner of his eye.  Both hands gripped the rail. Mouth open. Completely undone.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s jaw drop that far

He smiled, heart swelling, and whispered upward, “Thank you. She deserves this.”

As the boat turned back toward shore, Mark and Kimmy stood wrapped around each other, quiet now—not from lack of words, but from fullness.  Like they’d just finished the most extraordinary meal of their lives.

Juneau — Formal Night

By late afternoon, the ship had already begun to feel different.  For Kimmy, tonight carried a weight that surprised even her. She moved through the stateroom slowly, deliberately, aware of every moment as if she were already filing it away. There would be other formal nights—she knew that intellectually—but this one felt singular. A marker. A proof point.  She stood by the window, sunlight catching on the glass, watching her own reflection hover over the harbor outside. Months from now, years from now, she wouldn’t think of this as the night anymore—but right now, in this instant, it felt like the night. The one she had imagined in fragments long before she ever believed it would be real.

Formal pictures. A dream trip. And better than all of it—

Him.

In the bathroom, Mark straightened his tie and took one last look in the mirror. He didn’t see the man he used to be. He saw someone steadier now. Someone chosen.  I do look good enough to be her husband, he thought, a quiet awe washing over him.  And then, uninvited but welcome, Allan’s voice surfaced in his head the way it had that morning at Wawa months ago:  You do deserve her. And remember this—she chooses you. That’s awesome, dude.

Mark exhaled, squared his shoulders, and stepped back into the room.  He stopped dead.

For a heartbeat, he forgot how to breathe.

Kimmy stood by the window, angled slightly toward the mirror above the sofa, adjusting a strand of hair. The soft auburn silk dress draped over her shoulders like it had been poured there—just off enough to be daring, just modest enough to be elegant. The neckline framed her necklace perfectly, the stone catching the fading daylight and sending it back at him in a sudden, blinding flash.  If this were a movie, he thought vaguely, the angels would be singing right now.  All he managed was, “Wow.”  She turned, concern flickering instantly. “Oh baby—are you okay?” She took a step toward him.

“Stop,” Mark said softly, but firmly.

She froze.

“Don’t move.”

Her lips curved into a shy smile. “You like it?”

Mark swallowed, then lowered himself onto the edge of the bed like his legs had simply decided they were done. “Like it?” he repeated faintly. Then, more seriously—almost reverently—“You… you want to spend your life with me?”  Emotion caught in his throat. “Oh wow.”  Kimmy’s eyes softened. She crossed the space between them, knelt slightly so they were level, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stood and pulled her into him, holding her tightly, as if anchoring himself to the moment.

How is this real? she thought. How did I get this lucky?

How did I get her? he wondered in return.  

They didn’t rush the evening.  After drinks, they stopped first at the grand staircase, the photographer arranging them in gentle poses. Kimmy giggled as she peeked at the proofs. “Don’t we look good?” she whispered.  At the next station, a moonlit ship backdrop, Kimmy glanced at the image and snorted softly. “That looks so fake,” she said, then shrugged. “But… we look good, right?”  Mark laughed, his heart full. “Yeah,” he said. “We really do.”

Dinner was by the window, the harbor slipping away as the ship eased out of port. French onion soup arrived first—rich, perfectly browned.  “Oh my God,” Mark murmured after the first spoonful. “That might be the best French onion soup I’ve ever had.”  Kimmy smiled. “High praise, coming from you.”  Filet. Lobster. Conversation drifting easily between reflections on the day and quiet amazement at the fact that they were here—together, married, beginning something that still felt surreal.  When dessert arrived—Baked Alaska, flaming briefly before being set down—Kimmy laughed. “Of course,” she said. “Of course this ends with Baked Alaska.”

Mark grinned. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

After dinner, he stood and held out his hand. “One more thing.”

He led her up to the top deck, to the back of the ship. The air was crisp but not biting, the wake glowing faintly in the distance. He wrapped his arms around her, her back against his chest.  “Thanks, Juneau,” he said quietly. “That was great.”  Then, softer: “And now… we sail away.”  Kimmy turned, slid her arms around his waist, and rested her forehead against his. “No, my love,” she whispered. “Now we sail forward.”

She smiled through the emotion swelling in her chest. “Into our future. A future where we live happily… still.”

Mark kissed her deeply, completely, as if sealing something sacred.  The ship moved on.  The music swelled.

Day 7 — Ketchikan

Crab, Wings, and the Joy of Seeing More

By the seventh morning, the rhythm of the ship had worked its way into them.  Not routine — never that — but familiarity. The kind that comes when joy has been steady long enough to feel earned.  There was a softness at breakfast that day. Not sadness exactly, but awareness. The kind that sneaks in when you realize you’re past the midpoint of something wonderful.  Kimmy watched the shoreline slide closer through the window as the ship eased into Ketchikan’s inlet. Forested hills rose straight from the water, mist clinging low like it wasn’t quite ready to let go.  “Part of me can’t believe it’s already been a week,” she said quietly.

Mark nodded. “And part of me knows we’re going to be really happy to sleep in our own bed again.”

She smiled. “Both things can be true.”

He reached across the table and covered her hand. “Okay,” he said, a note of mischief entering his voice, “I’ve tried very hard not to oversell anything on this trip. But today?”

Kimmy raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Today is tasty,” he said. “Literally.”

She laughed. “What does that mean?”

“I know you like seafood,” he said, leaning in slightly. “But today you’re going to have crab so good it will ruin you for all other crab. Possibly forever.”

Her eyes widened. “That feels like a bold claim.”

“And,” he added, “we’re taking a seaplane.”

She froze — just a beat.

“A… what plane?”

“A little one,” he said gently. “Seven seats plus the pilot.”  Kimmy blinked. Then laughed, half-nervous, half-thrilled.  The excursion group gathered in the theater just before noon, a mix of excited chatter and camera straps. They were led out to the bus, which wound along the waterfront for about thirty-five minutes, the water flashing silver through the trees.  The George Inlet Lodge appeared like a secret — tucked right into the shoreline, weathered wood and wide windows, the kind of place that looked like it had stories soaked into its beams.  The guide cheerfully pointed out the choice: a shuttle down, or seventy-nine steps.  Kimmy looked at Mark. “Seventy-nine?”

Mark grinned. “After crab, we’ll be grateful for them.”

Inside, the meal was unapologetic. Plates piled high. Crackers, bibs, laughter. Crab so sweet and tender it barely needed butter.  Kimmy paused mid-bite, eyes wide. “Why have I never had this before?”

Mark laughed. “Geography.”

“This,” she said firmly, “is unfair to all other seafood.”

By the time lunch ended, she was glowing — full, happy, and already replaying flavors like favorite scenes.  And then they walked down to the dock.  The seaplane arrived with a low, confident hum, skimming the water before easing up to the dock like it belonged there.  Kimmy stared. “That’s… really small.”

Mark slipped his hand into hers. “I’ll be right there with you, baby.”

She looked at him then — really looked. “Okay,” she said softly. “I trust you.”

He felt the weight of that settle into his chest. Not just the plane. Everything.  They were seated in the middle. Mark stood first, then stepped aside.  “Window’s yours,” he said.

“No, you—”

“I insist,” he smiled. “This one’s for you.”  She didn’t hesitate this time. The engine roared. The plane surged forward, skimming faster and faster across the water.  Kimmy’s hand clamped onto his arm, fingers digging in with surprising strength.  Mark barely flinched. Worth it, he thought. Completely worth it.  The moment the plane lifted free of the water, everything changed.  The land fell away.

And suddenly, they weren’t beside Alaska.  They were above it.  Kimmy forgot to breathe.

Mountains rolled beneath them like something alive. Glaciers gleamed in impossible blues. Waterfalls stitched silver threads down sheer rock faces. Forests stretched endlessly, dense and untouched.  Her forehead nearly touched the window.

“Oh my God… Mark… look at that… no—that… are you seeing this?”

He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.  “Oh yes,” he murmured.  “Uh huh.”

“Yeah… that’s incredible.”  He didn’t once say I’ve seen this before.  He just watched her.  Watched wonder move through her like electricity.  Every gasp, every whispered wow, every breathless laugh felt like a gift.  When the plane banked in a wide, graceful arc, the inlet opened beneath them — and there, impossibly small and elegant, was their ship.  Kimmy pressed her free hand to her mouth. “That’s us.”  The plane descended, kissed the water, and slowed, docking gently not far from the ship.

When they stepped onto the dock, Kimmy was nearly vibrating.  “That was—” she laughed, searching for words, “—I don’t even know how to say that.”   

“Do you want the shuttle?” Mark asked.

She shook her head immediately. “Can we walk?”

“I’ll walk down any path with you,” he said without hesitation.

As they strolled along the waterfront, Kimmy kept glancing upward, as if she half-expected to still see the world from above.  “It’s majestic from here,” she said. “But from up there? It’s like… seeing life in three dimensions.”  Mark felt it click into place.

That’s it.

His life had always been good. Full. Meaningful.  But now?  Now he saw it from above.  That night, they chose casual — tomorrow would be the farewell night.  Seated by the window, the water sliding past in long, dark ribbons, Kimmy grew quiet.  “I love my life,” she said suddenly.  Mark smiled. “I know.”  She tapped her fork softly against the plate. “I loved it before, too. But now… meeting you… how you see me…”

She looked at him, eyes steady. “I feel like the eagle. I see more of myself. More of us.”

Mark reached for her hand, heart full.

They slept that night wrapped in the deepest contentment — not the excitement of beginnings, but the peace of knowing they were exactly where they belonged.  Together.

Day 8 — The Inside Passage

Stillness. Choice. Being.

Morning arrived without ceremony.  Mark woke first, as he had most days on the trip, but this time he didn’t move right away. He lay still, watching Kimmy sleep—curled toward him, one hand resting instinctively over his heart, her breathing slow and even. There was something about the quiet that felt sacred, like the ship itself knew to tread gently.  He thought, not for the first time, I am so fortunate.  Carefully, he slipped from beneath her arm, tucking the blanket around her shoulders before easing out of bed. Outside, the Inside Passage glided past the veranda doors—water like brushed glass, mountains softened by morning haze. He paused there for a moment, hands on the rail, then headed up for coffee.

When he returned, balancing two cups, Kimmy stirred but didn’t open her eyes.  “Good morning,” he whispered.  She smiled before she spoke. “Mmm… morning.”  Quick kisses. Familiar. Easy. He set the coffee on the small table near the bed.  “There’s nothing planned today,” he said gently. “Just sailing.”  Her smile widened against the pillow.  Then—suddenly—she sat straight up.  “Mark,” she said, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. He said, “You’re about to do it, aren’t you?”

She blinked. “Do what?”

Her grin turned mischievous. “We have Wi-Fi on board… right?”

He laughed. “Yes…?”

“Oh Mark,” she breathed, already vibrating with delight. “Wouldn’t it be just ideal—so epic—if we watched the last three episodes of Emily in Paris… right now.”  He stared at her.  “In bed,” she added quickly. “And—oh!—let’s order breakfast up here. Eggs, bacon, pancakes… the works. Please. Please please.”  He shook his head, smiling. “You did it again.  How am I supposed to say no to you when you have that smile and you’re wearing my shirt like THAT?”  She tugged at the hem of the oversized shirt she wore—his shirt—letting it slide just enough to be dangerous. “It’s my shirt, mister,” she pouted playfully.

“Okay,” he surrendered, laughing. “Your shirt. And no, I cannot say no to such a special girl.”  She clapped once, delighted. “Yes!”  He grabbed the menu, pulled his laptop onto the bed, and—at her insistence—changed back into his sweats and the oversized heart shirt.

“Perfect,” she declared.  For the next three and a half hours, the world narrowed to bed sheets, breakfast trays, and Parisian drama.  They watched Emily stumble and soar, fall in love, lose it, and find it again—Kimmy reacting to every beat with gasps, sighs, and soft groans, Mark occasionally glancing away from the screen just to  watch her. Eggs cooled. Pancakes disappeared. Coffee was refilled.

They never got out of bed.

It was wonderfully simple.

By lunchtime, they carried their plates out onto the deck and sat side by side, legs touching, watching forests slide past water. Neither felt the need to speak much. Sometimes Kimmy would point. “Look at that.”  Or Mark would murmur, “See the way the light hits there?”  Mostly, they just existed—together, quiet, full.  By midafternoon, a nap felt inevitable.  That evening, they dressed for Farewell Night.  Mark wore the slate-gray jacket and black mock turtleneck from the rehearsal dinner. Kimmy appeared in an aqua blouse, soft and luminous, long sleeves loose at the wrists, cream slacks flowing just enough to catch the light. Together, they turned heads as they were led to their table at Cannelleto’s.  Candlelight flickered. Italian music hummed low.  “This is good,” Mark said after a bite of spaghetti.

“Fresh pasta, perfectly done.” He smiled at her.  “But still not even close to yours.”

She laughed softly. “High praise.”  They lingered over dessert, hands meeting across the table.  

Later, they walked the top deck—three slow laps beneath a darkening sky—talking quietly about moments already becoming memories.  At the end of the walk, Kimmy stopped and leaned into him, gazing out at the deep ocean stretching endlessly ahead.  “I remember that Christmas,” she said softly. “The first one you came. The ornament. Never in my wildest dreams…”  Mark wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as the ship carried them forward.  “…neither did I,” he said quietly. “But here we are. Together. Still.”

They stood there a moment longer—two silhouettes against the promise of open water—before turning back toward their room.

Vancouver — The Pause Before What Comes Next

The ship was already docked when Mark opened his eyes.  Morning light filtered in through the curtains, softer than Alaska’s brilliance, gentler—like it knew this part of the journey was about easing back into the world. The suitcases stood upright by the door, zipped and waiting, their matching shapes a quiet reminder that this chapter, too, had an ending.  Kimmy stirred beside him, still half wrapped in sleep.  Mark lay there for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds of a ship at rest—distant footsteps in the hall, the faint hum of life resuming beyond their door—and felt something unexpected.

Contentment.  Not the dizzy, breathless kind. The kind that settles in your bones.  He finally spoke, softly, like he didn’t want to startle the moment.  “Know what I’m excited for?”

Kimmy shifted, her cheek still pressed against his chest. “Mmm… what?”

“Getting coffee at Wawa,” he said with a small smile. “Going to the grocery store. Having dinner on the porch.”  She laughed quietly, the sound warm and unguarded. “That’s very you.”  She lifted her head just enough to look at him. “I kind of miss my students,” she admitted. “But… I’ve loved this. Not having responsibility. Just… sharing the whole day with you.”  Mark kissed her forehead. He understood exactly what she meant. This trip hadn’t just been about places—it had been about time. Undivided, unclaimed, entirely theirs.

They dressed without hurry, one last morning moving around the stateroom they’d made their own for ten days. When the announcement came to disembark, Kimmy slipped her arm through his instinctively, like she had been doing it her whole life.  

Stepping off the ship felt different than stepping on.  Less anticipation. More gratitude.

The Pan Pacific Hotel sat right at the port, glass and steel catching the light off the water. Their room overlooked the harbor—ships, seaplanes, the city stretching beyond like a promise waiting patiently.  Kimmy dropped onto the bed the moment the door closed behind them, exhaustion finally claiming its due.  “I didn’t realize how tired I was,” she murmured. Mark smiled and let her rest. He opened his laptop at the small desk by the window, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly against the glass. Pages of notes, numbers, ideas—things he’d been thinking about quietly for months—came together with surprising clarity.  When Kimmy woke, the afternoon had softened. They walked along the waterfront to lunch, the city alive but unhurried, and settled into a table at the Cactus Café, the water just steps away.  Mark pulled out a slim folder and set it beside his plate.

“Oh no,” Kimmy laughed. “Coach Love is back.”

He grinned. “Just hear me out.”

Between bites and sips, he explained—calmly, thoughtfully—how things stood now. The sale of his house. The numbers. The margin they had. And then, gently, the idea he’d been carrying with him.  “You can retire,” he said. “If you want to. Not today. Not tomorrow. Just… someday soon.”  Kimmy leaned back, processing. “I like the idea,” she said slowly. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to say my career is over. And I work from home. We have time.”  Mark nodded. “We do. This is just a thought. Nothing more…..it’s just in cases”  She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for thinking of me that way.”

Later, as evening crept in, Mark surprised her again.  “One more thing,” he said. “Final honeymoon surprise.”  He walked her through the city, fifteen minutes that felt like a leisurely stroll rather than a destination. Gas Town revealed itself in warm lights and old brick, history layered gently into the streets.  They sat on a patio, drinks in hand, waiting for dinner.

Mark checked his watch.

Kimmy noticed. “What are you doing?” she teased. “Do you have a late date or something?”

He smiled but said nothing.  At exactly 6:59, he stood.  “Okay,” he said. “Now… turn around.”  Across the street, the old steam clock came to life. Gears whirred. Steam hissed. And then—clear and deliberate—seven whistle blows echoed through the square.

Kimmy’s eyes widened, delighted. “Oh, that’s so fun!”

Mark slipped an arm around her waist. “That,” he said softly, “is the signal for the start of our next chapter.”  She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, the sound of the city settling around them.

Not an ending.

Just a pause.

And then—forward.