Chapter 12

 Chapter Twelve:  Later Than Planned, Right On Time

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and the house has that soft, suspended feeling—leftover warmth, no urgency, the promise of a long afternoon. Mark sets a Wawa coffee on the table beside Kimmy’s laptop, careful not to bump the mouse.  She’s mid-student chat, voice lowered, eyes smiling even as she types. Without looking up she whispers, “Thanks, baby.”,,It’s a small thing. It always is.  Mark heads to the garage. Kimmy finishes her chat a few minutes later, stretches, and then hears it—the scrape of cardboard, the hollow thud of boxes shifting, something clattering that definitely wasn’t there yesterday.  She calls out, amused.  “What’s going on out there, honey? Need my help?”

A moment later Mark appears in the doorway, carrying a box clearly labeled in thick black marker:

CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS

Kimmy blinks.  “What are you doing, honey?”  He sets the box on the table with a satisfied thump.  “Well… duh. We’re putting the tree up today, right?”  She opens her mouth automatically.  “I usually—”  And then she stops.

I usually.

Not we usually.

The realization lands gently but firmly: this isn’t him stepping into her routine. This is him inviting her into his. Folding her into something that existed long before her—and now suddenly feels incomplete without her.  She smiles, softer now.  “Sure, baby. I’ve got a long break this afternoon.”  

The tree goes up easily, muscle memory guiding Mark’s hands. Kimmy climbs the step ladder to handle the lights, perching there with the quiet authority of someone trusted with an important job.  She’s wearing a cropped white top that barely makes it to her waist, and every time she stretches—reaching for another branch, another coil of wire—Mark catches glimpses of the small of her back, the curve of her belly, the faint shadow of a belly button disappearing when she twists.  He steps back, pretending to check the symmetry.  

“Okay, honey,” she calls down. “Give me more… honey?”  She turns her head.  Mark is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, smiling in a way that tells her everything.

“What are you doing?” she asks, already laughing.

“You are so hot,” he says simply.

She rolls her eyes. “Stop, you…”  He doesn’t move.  

“Remember that time we met for dinner right after you graduated from UCF? And I said I love it when we get together and guys look at me and think, how does that guy have a good-looking college girl on his arm?”  She climbs down, crossing her arms, smiling wide.

“Yes,” she says. “Who would have thought, right?”

She points at the tree.  “More lights. Now. No time for lollygagging.”  The lights are perfect—balanced, warm, wrapping the tree like it belongs exactly where it is. Kimmy plugs them in and steps back.  They stand there for a moment, quiet.  Then the ornaments come out.  Most are familiar, but three small boxes are set carefully aside. “Ready?” Mark asks.  He hands her the Alaska ornament—the one they bought on their honeymoon.  She turns it over in her hands, the weight of it surprising her even now.

“I’m thinking right in the middle,” she says, “but below where Mickey and Minnie will go.”  Mark nods, his chest tightening in that way it does when something means more than he expected.  She hangs it carefully.  And as she does, she realizes that as epic as that trip was—ice and mountains and wonder—what she remembers most isn’t the place.

It’s them.

Together.

Standing in awe.

Side by side.

“Perfect,” Mark says.

He hands her the ornament he bought her—Mickey and Minnie kissing. She gives him the one she bought for him—Minnie on tiptoes, mistletoe raised.  Together, without speaking, they hang them just above Alaska.  They step back. Mark slides his arms around her waist.

“Perfect,” Kimmy says.  Mark leans in, his voice low.  “Yes. You are.”

That evening they’re curled up on the sofa, the tree glowing softly in the corner, ornaments catching the light just enough to feel alive.  “Ever seen White Christmas with Bing Crosby?” Mark asks.  Kimmy squints at him while cleaning her glasses.  

“Who stole Christmas?”

He laughs. “No, honey. The movie. White Christmas.”

She tilts her head. “What’s that?” He stares at her in mock disbelief.  “Oh my God. How have you reached this point in life and never watched White Christmas?”  He pulls her close.

“Come here. Get ready. This is great.”

They laugh through the dance scene, mimicking Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye’s over-the-top sister routine, Kimmy nearly snorting as she tries to copy the moves from the couch.  Later, when Bing Crosby’s love interest misunderstands and leaves at the train station, Kimmy’s hand flies to her mouth.  “Oh no,” she whispers, genuinely distressed.  At the end, when Rosemary Clooney presents the silver knight on the horse and they sing the final song, Kimmy sighs—a full, romantic sigh—and looks up at Mark.  “You are my shining knight,” she says softly.

“You were always there when I had problems, and—”

Mark kisses her forehead.

“And I am,” he says. “Still.”

He squeezes her gently.  “Let’s turn in. You can dream of your own white Christmas tonight.”  As the lights dim and the tree glows quietly in the background, the thought lingers—not spoken, but fully understood.  Later than planned.

Right on time.

The Holiday Season

It’s two weeks to Christmas, and the afternoon light has that pale gold softness that only December seems to manage. Kimmy is grading papers on the porch, laptop balanced on her knees, papers spread neatly beside her. Mark sits next to her in a rocking chair, a Dan Brown novel resting open on his lap, one finger marking his place.  The beauty of online teaching is not lost on either of them.  She’s working — truly working — yet here she is, beside him, the rhythm of her day unfolding alongside his. Kimmy is aware of it in a way she never quite says out loud: this didn’t used to be possible. The proximity, the shared silence, the feeling of not having to compartmentalize life into separate boxes labeled work and us.  Mark notices it too. He watches her from the corner of his eye — the way she furrows her brow at a sentence, the soft exhale when she enters a grade, the tiny smile when she reads a particularly thoughtful response. He thinks, I get to sit here while she builds her life. Not hovering. Not interrupting. Just… present.

He closes his book.  “Hey,” he says casually. “I have an idea.”  She doesn’t look up right away. But she smiles.  That smile — the one that already knows.  “Oh no,” she says. “Coach Love is developing a game plan.”  He chuckles. “What if we host a Christmas party?”

Kimmy’s head snaps up. “Oh yes! That would be so fun. I could make—”

“Wait, baby,” he interrupts, holding up a finger. “The best part.”

She leans back, mock-suspicious. “Oh. Sorry. Please continue.”

“We do a gift exchange,” he says. “Couple to couple.”

“I like that,” she nods. “But—”

“But,” he says, eyes lighting up, “we choose the gifts.”

She frowns slightly. “Why do we choose?”

“Because,” he says, clearly pleased with himself, “this is where I am oh-so-clever.”

She tilts her head.

“We give Allan and Sally Viking polo shirts.”

There’s a beat — and then Kimmy claps her hands like a kid.

“Oh my gosh. That is perfect.”  She loves it immediately. Loves the thought, the humor, the knowing nod it will earn. She tells Sally later at pickleball; Mark tells Allan at Wawa the next morning. Both are instantly on board.  Kimmy emails Helen. Helen replies almost immediately: YES.  

The next day, Kimmy heads out for pickleball. Mark tells her goodbye like always — but something’s different. She pauses at the door, studying him.  “What is going on with you?” she asks, a mischievous smile playing at the edges.  Mark straightens, feigning offense. “You can’t ask that. It’s Christmas time.”  She laughs, unconvinced, and leaves.

Minutes later, Mark is at his computer.  He checks his email. Your package is on its way.  He smiles.  He clicks into a folder titled My Photos.  The folders appear in neat rows:

First Weekend

River Cruise

Breeders’ Cup

First Christmas

New Years

He pauses at New Years, frowns slightly — not yet — and scrolls on.

Engagement

Derby Weekend

Wedding

Alaska

Carefully, thoughtfully, he selects photos — moments, not poses — and saves them into a new folder.  He names it: Christmas Gift.  Then he opens Facebook. Types her name into the search bar.  Years peel back.  At pickleball, Sally arrives carrying a small UPS package.

“Here, Kimmy,” she says. “It came today. I noticed it’s from Dubois Bookstore.”  Kimmy laughs. “Yes — it’s for Mark. Christmas gift. A ‘Miami’ thing.”  

Sally’s eyes light up. “Did you know Allan and I met at Miami?”  Kimmy shakes her head as Sally tells her the story — freshman and sophomore, timing off, life intervening, separation, reconnection.  “And the rest is history,” Sally finishes.  Kimmy smiles. “Small world.”  “Oh — speaking of Miami,” Sally adds. “Two of my suitemates were twins. One of them — Teri — and her husband are coming for the holidays. Would it be okay if they came to the party?”  Kimmy doesn’t hesitate. “The more the merrier.”

A couple days later, Mark and Allan are doing the universal guy thing at the mall — walking aimlessly, hands in pockets, pretending they know where they’re going.  “So,” Allan says, “what are you looking for for Kimmy?”

Mark shakes his head. “Not shopping for Christmas.”  Allan raises an eyebrow.

“I had an epiphany,” Mark continues. “I’m shopping for our anniversary.”

They stop in front of a jewelry store.  Allan’s other eyebrow joins the first.

“This is something special,” he says.

Mark nods. “Because Kimmy is so special.”

They make a beeline for the Tiffany case.

Less than a week to Christmas.

Mark and Kimmy are at the mall together, not really shopping — more drifting. Window displays, half-formed ideas, hands brushing occasionally.  They pass Santa’s setup. Only a couple kids in line.  Mark slows.  “Let’s…”

Kimmy blinks. “What? The food court?”  He takes her hand. “No, silly. Let’s tell Santa what we want for Christmas.”  

She stops cold. “You’re not serious.”

He tugs gently. “C’mon.”

“Mark,” she laughs, “you are so—”

“Oh yes, baby. We’re doing this.”

She giggles, entirely delighted despite herself.  They pose — Kimmy on Santa’s lap, Mark standing behind, arms draped easily, both grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  The photographer shows them the proof.  “That’s cute,” Kimmy says. “Okay, let’s go.”  Mark stares at her. “Are you kidding me? We’re buying this. And then we’re getting a frame.”  As he pays, Kimmy watches him — the ease, the certainty, the joy he takes in them.  Inside, something settles warmly and completely.

He really loves me, she thinks.

And he really loves us.

And without realizing it, she knows: this isn’t just the holiday season.

It’s their season now.

Bottom of Form

Party On, Garth

Christmas Eve

Mark wakes slowly, the way you do when sleep has been good but not deep. For a moment he isn’t sure where he is — just warmth, quiet, the soft hum of the house. Then he feels it.  The eye patch.  He smiles to himself.  Should be good to go, he thinks. Give it a little time… check the mail.  He slips out of the bedroom, padding softly across the hall. The house has that Christmas Eve stillness — not silent, but expectant. Lights glow faintly from the tree in the living room. Outside, the world looks muted, as if someone turned the volume down overnight.  Kimmy is on the couch, laptop open, glasses perched just so, completely absorbed.  She looks up immediately.  “How you feeling, honey?” she asks, voice warm, familiar. “Pretty exciting news from the doctor, right? Every three months instead of every month?”

Mark nods, smiling. “Yeah. That was… that was really good news.” He pauses, then adds, almost reverently, “What a Christmas gift.”  She smiles back at him — the kind of smile that says we’re okay.  “I’m going to walk down to the mailbox,” he says, already reaching for his coat.

“Want me to go with you?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. You finish up. We’ve got a party tonight — going to be fun.”

Outside, the air is crisp. A light dusting of snow traces the edges of the drive, just enough to feel special without being inconvenient. Mark walks slowly, hands in his pockets, breathing it in.  I can do this, he thinks. I can be whole again. I can be strong for her.  Halfway down the drive he stops, glancing toward the road.  Hard to believe, he thinks, that just a couple years ago we were standing right here meeting Helen and Ray for the first time.  Life had a funny way of looping back on itself.  At the mailbox, he sorts through the stack as he walks back.

A Viking catalog. Nice.

Oil change coupon. Junk.

Bobby Wants To Buy Your House. Not a chance.

Electric bill. Oof.

Then he sees it.

The envelope is heavier than the others. Official. Cream-colored. His breath catches when he reads the return address:  

North Carolina Education – Department of Retirement

Addressed to: Kimberly Love

For half a second, he just stares.  Then—“WHOOO HOOO!”  The shout escapes him before he can stop it. He takes off up the drive, boots crunching against gravel and snow, waving the mail like a victory flag.  Kimmy is already at the door when he reaches the steps.  “I heard you yell,” she says, concern flashing briefly. “Are you okay?”  He doesn’t answer — just swoops her up in one smooth motion, lifting her clear off the ground, arms wrapped around her thighs.  “WHOA, mister!” she laughs. “Your back!”

He kisses her, full and firm. “LOOK!”  She takes the envelope, calm where he is electric. “Oh good,” she says softly. “It came.”  He stares at her, wild-eyed. “No, honey. It’s real. You… me… retired. Free to do whatever we want. All day. Every day. Forever.”

The word lands.

Forever

Something shifts in her. A montage flashes through her mind — mornings next week, next year, five years from now — waking beside him without clocks, without countdowns.  She cups his face in both hands and kisses him back just as fiercely.

“WHOOOO HOOOO!”

They high-five like teenagers.

Later That Evening

The house buzzes with warmth and motion.  Got a text,” Mark says. “Allan and Sally — and her roommate from college — five minutes.”  Kimmy peers out the window. “Good. Helen and Ray are pulling up now.”  Introductions happen fast and easily. Laughter fills the room as Allan and Sally arrive with Teri and her husband Eric. Eight people, one long table, spaghetti steaming, salad passed hand to hand, Helen’s apple pie waiting patiently on the counter.  Conversation flows — Miami memories, weather comparisons, holiday stories. Someone says Who would have thought at least once, and everyone laughs without realizing why.  As dessert plates are cleared, Ray leans back.  “Hey — thanks for the Christmas card. We don’t send them anymore, but that Alaska backdrop was something else.”  Sally and Allan nod enthusiastically.

Teri blinks. “Wait — Alaska?”

Kimmy gives a quick, animated summary of the honeymoon.

Teri’s eyes widen. “Oh that is so cool. Eric — we need to do an epic trip like that someday.”

Eric smiles. On the way to the porch, Helen stops short. “Oh my goodness,” she says, pointing to the framed Santa photo on the counter. “Ray — look what Kimmy had Mark do!”  The group gathers, laughing, admiring.  Kimmy shakes her head, mock-innocent. “Actually… that was all my romantic husband. He made me.”

Mark shrugs. “Guilty.”

Out by the fire pit, gifts are exchanged. Helen’s knitted scarves earn heartfelt thanks. Allan and Sally sheepishly explain Amazon gift cards.  “A trip to the Amazon?” Helen asks, puzzled.  The younger ones explain. Laughter erupts.  “OK you’re turn guys” says Mark.  Kimmy brings out the box.  Allan and Sally anxiously open it and pull out matching navy Viking polo shirts.  “Oh wow – this is too much, thank you so much” says Sally – “Tell them Allan, this is the perfect time.”  

“Ok honey – remember you booked the rooms and we confirmed but we had 30 days to pay or lose the reservation….”

Mark & Kimmy lean forward, Kimmy, “Yes….and….”

In unison “WE DID IT”- cheers, stand up and hugs among the four

“Wow that’s great,” Mark says…”Baby it’s a good time to tell them your big news from today.”

Kimmy stands dramatically, extends her hands as if to hold off the mock applause,  “You are looking at a retired woman as of January 1^st” – Another big round of cheers and congratulations  “More time with my knight in shining armor she says hugging Mark.”  “Big time excited” Mark adds.  Teri pipes in, “Sally says you guys like to travel are you going somewhere to celebrate?”

Kimmy “Well of course we’re going on the Euro trip, but you never know” eyeing Mark mischievously.  He notices, What is that girl up to he muses to himself  Mark announces, “No games tonight. Special treat.”

Kimmy holds up the popcorn bowl. “Home Alone!”  Cheers all around.

Much Later

The house is quiet again.  “I’m wiped,” Mark says as they head to bed. “I’ll sleep good tonight.”  He’s already in bed in his Alaska shirt when Kimmy laughs. “Oh, that’s a good idea” pointing to his shirt.  She appears moments later in the shirt.  They talk softly — about the night, the laughter, the plans — until Kimmy starts to fidget.  “What’s with you, sweetie?” Mark asks.

She grins. “You know.”

“No… what?”

“Duh. Santa is coming. What’s in that heavy square present that says, To Kimmy:Who Would Have Thought?”  Mark pulls her close. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”  He kisses the top of her head, turns off the light.  Kimmy settles into her place against his chest.

Outside, the porch light glows softly.

Christmas Morning — Home Alone

The soft drumming on his chest pulls him back from sleep—light, rhythmic, impatient in the sweetest way. Mark stirs.  “What the…?”  His eyes blink open, still heavy, still fog-wrapped. Kimmy’s are already bright, wide, alive—like Christmas itself has taken up residence behind them.  “OH hi, baby—you awake?”

“Mmm… morning…” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, instinctively pulling her closer, tucking her warmth into the hollow of his chest like it belongs there. Because it does.  She barely lasts a second.

“YAY… PRESENT TIME!”

She bounds out of bed, laughter trailing behind her as she pads down the hall.  “I’ll make the hot chocolate!”  From farther away, her voice floats back, sing-song and joyful.  “And I’ll turn on the tree!”  Mark exhales, smiling into the quiet she leaves behind.

That girl.

No Wawa today. No rushed coffee run. This morning is homemade—by choice, by joy.  He brushes his teeth slowly, shuffling more than walking, the house still dim and hushed except for the faint hum of life waking up. By the time he reaches the living room, the transformation is complete.  The tree glows—soft white lights blinking lazily, ornaments catching and scattering warmth across the walls. Christmas music drifts from the TV, a YouTube screensaver looping crackling fireplaces and gentle carols, just loud enough to feel, not hear.  The air smells like chocolate and steam, sweet and comforting.  Kimmy is already there.  She’s sitting cross-legged under the tree, hot chocolate mug beside her, marshmallows slowly melting into glossy swirls. Presents are neatly divided into two piles—his and hers—like she’s been planning this for hours.  She pats the floor beside her.  “Here’s your pile… I’ve got mine… I go first, okay?”

Mark doesn’t answer right away.  He steps closer, leans down, kisses the top of her head—and then just stands there, smiling. Taking her in. The tree light in her hair. The quiet happiness on her face. The rightness of this moment.  She looks up, already knowing, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

“What?”

“Just you, honey,” he says softly. “Just you.”

He sits.

They begin, trading gifts back and forth, the way couples do when there’s no rush and no audience—just laughter, thank-yous, little kisses between ribbons and paper.  Then Mark picks up his third gift.  It’s a square box.  He shakes it once. Twice.  Pauses.  “Fruit of the Loom boxers,” he announces solemnly—and then breaks, a chuckle escaping before he can stop it.  Kimmy rolls her eyes, grinning.

“You know you need them. I’m tired of those old ones…”  Something about that—about the absolute normalcy of it—hits him just right.  He laughs.  Not just a laugh. A full, belly-deep, can’t-catch-his-breath laugh that sneaks up on you and refuses to let go. Tears threaten. His shoulders shake.  Kimmy watches him, smiling at first… then laughing herself.  “WHAT… what is so funny?”

“You know,” he finally manages, wiping his eyes, “we’re officially an old married couple when we give underwear for Christmas.”  They both dissolve into laughter, the kind that fills the room and lingers.  Mark recovers first and slides a box toward her.  “This one next. For you.”  Her eyes widen as she reads the label.  “Ooooooh… Victoria’s Secret!”  She opens it eagerly.  “I do need new bras…” She pulls out the rest, eyebrows lifting. “And what’s this? A silky pajama outfit? Honey… these shorts are pretty short,” she adds, smiling knowingly.  “Oh?” Mark says, feigning innocence. “Are they? I didn’t pay attention when I bought them.”  She laughs, shaking her head.  A few more gifts follow—things for the house, for the kitchen. Useful things. Shared things. The quiet language of a life being built.

And then—

They both stop.  Two boxes remain under the tree.  Neither of them reaches for one.

Not yet.

The music plays on.

The lights glow softly.

And Christmas morning, still holding its biggest secrets, waits.

This One’s For You — continued (For Him)

They both glance at the remaining presents at the same time. Neither says it out loud, but the thought is identical — mirrored, hopeful, just a little fragile.

I hope he likes this.

I hope she sees what this means.

Kimmy breaks the silence first, her voice gentle but excited.  “You first, honey.”  Mark nods, reaching for the box more slowly than he usually would. His hands aren’t shaking — but he’s aware of them. Aware of the quiet. Of her eyes on him.  She watches with a sly smile, barely containing herself.  “I hope you like it.”  He lifts the lid.  Instantly, a grin spreads across his face.  “A Miami polo,” he says warmly. “Can’t have enough of these.”  He pulls it free — and then pauses.  The smile shifts into something amused, curious. He holds it up, giving it a look, turning it slightly.  “Ummm… baby,” he says with a chuckle, “this looks a little small… and it kind of looks like it might fit you.”

Kimmy doesn’t laugh right away. Her voice lowers instead, calm and encouraging.  “Under the tissue paper,” she says softly. “Keep going.”  Mark sets the polo aside and unfolds the paper beneath it.  An envelope.  He reads the front.

DREAM VACATIONS.

His breath catches — just slightly — before he opens it.  Inside are airline tickets… and a small brochure.  He reads the title once.  Then again.

“Miami University Alumni Weekend: March 8–11.”

Something opens in his chest — wide and warm — the way it does when something lands exactly where you didn’t know you needed it to.  “What—” he starts, then stops, laughing quietly as he looks up at her. “Oh… this is so cool.”  His eyes soften as they meet hers, something deeper than excitement moving behind them.

“I want to see it,” Kimmy says, her voice steady, sure. “I want you to show me everything there.”  And suddenly, it isn’t about a trip.  It’s about belonging.  Mark feels the realization bloom fully formed in his mind:  She wants to step completely into my world. Not just where I am now — but where I came from.

“How did you know?” he asks honestly. “I don’t even know how you’d have been able to—”  Kimmy beams, pride glowing across her face.  “I see you,” she says simply. “You linger over all the mail you get from Miami before you toss it.”

He blinks.

“So,” she continues, smiling wider, “I fished some of it out and saw the announcement for Alumni Weekend.”  Then she adds, with a playful tilt of her head,

“And yes… that does fit me. Not you.”  She giggles.  Mark just looks at her for a second, shaking his head in disbelief, joy radiating from him.  “Sooo,” he says slowly, drawing it out, “let me get this straight…”  Kimmy’s giggle grows louder — she already knows where he’s going.  “For my big Christmas gift…” he continues, raising an eyebrow, “…I get a shirt…”  She’s laughing now.  “FOR YOU,” he finishes, pointing at her, “…and not me. Do I have that right?”  Between giggles, she nods.

“Yes. Like it?”  He doesn’t answer with words.  He leans in and kisses her — slow, grateful, full — the kind of kiss that says you understood everything.  When he pulls back, his forehead rests against hers.  “Couldn’t have been any better,” he says softly. “The best present of the day… for me.”  He smiles, squeezing her hand.

“You’re next.”

As if on cue, the room seems to hush. The lights on the tree glow more warmly, the edges of the space softening — almost as though the world itself has leaned in.  The music shifts, still carrying the holiday spirit, but now slower… more intimate.  The orchestra has changed movements.  And something important is about to be revealed.

This One’s For You — continued (For Her)

As Mark reaches for the final box, Kimmy tilts her head, suddenly thoughtful.  “Did you know Allan and Sally both went to Miami?”  He pauses, surprised.  “I didn’t,” he says softly, then smiles. “Funny. No wonder we feel the connection.”  He takes a breath, then looks at her — really looks at her.  “Okay,” he says quietly. “Trust me?”  Her eyes widen instantly, bright and shining. She nods so enthusiastically she looks like a bobblehead, barely able to contain herself.  Mark opens his legs slightly and pats the space between them.  “Come here. Sit close to me.”

She does, nestling back against him, her spine fitting easily into his chest, his arms naturally coming around her.  “Okay, baby,” he murmurs near her ear. “Your turn. This is all for you… all for you. Go ahead.”  This time, she doesn’t tear the paper away. Her movements slow, deliberate, reverent — as if something inside her already knows this matters.

She lifts the lid.

Inside, a box. Simple. Elegant.

Digital Photo Album.

“What…” Kimmy breathes, wonder and curiosity tangling in her voice.  “Here,” Mark says softly. “Let me show you.”  She lifts it out, and he presses the power button.  The screen comes to life.

The first image fades in.  A fall afternoon — the backyard, golden light, familiar and warm.  Kimmy’s breath catches.  “That’s off our back porch… oh wait—” She leans forward slightly. “That was from your first visit here, wasn’t it?”

Her voice softens. Her eyes glisten.  The image dissolves into another — the two of them at dinner, smiling, that early, tentative happiness captured without knowing it would matter this much.  

Then the river cruise.

The top deck.

The fountain.

She squeezes his arm, hard. Mark feels the tear before he sees it, warm as it slips down her cheek.  The strudel scene appears and Kimmy laughs out loud, the sound bright and sudden.

The Breeders’ Cup — a squeal, then another laugh as the bread pudding photo fades in and out.

Mark is glowing now, his heart pounding with quiet triumph.  This is it, he thinks. She sees us. She sees how we became an us.

A breath hitches — hers this time — as Mickey and Minnie ornaments appear on the screen… followed by the two of them sitting in front of the tree in matching Christmas pajamas, beaming.  A soft, breathless “Ooooh…” escapes her lips.

The image shifts.

Her engagement ring.

She turns her head slightly toward him, smiling through tears — and before she can speak, another image fades in: the two of them on his pool deck, the day they closed.

Then the pre-Derby dinner.

The Derby.

“When you gave me my necklace,” she whispers, her fingers instinctively reaching up to touch it.  She turns again, laughing softly.  “Remember when you hit the exacta?”

The rehearsal dinner appears.

The wedding.

“This is so… so great,” she says, almost overwhelmed.  A close-up: Kimmy coming down the aisle.  Mark’s voice doesn’t leave his lips, but it fills his chest.

You are beautiful.

Then.

Even more now.

The Panthers game fades in.  “YAY! Go Cats!” she cheers reflexively.

Then Alaska.

Mountains. Glaciers. Vast, quiet beauty.

“Ooooh… ahhh,” she murmurs. “Just gorgeous. Wondrous.”

Mark’s heart swells even further — and he knows.

Wait for it.

The images pause slightly longer than before.

Kimmy starts to speak.

“Oh, this is soooo—”

Mark leans in, his voice barely audible.

“Wait… watch…”

The screen changes.  Kimmy — late twenties — sitting across from Mark at dinner.  Her breath leaves her all at once.  “Oh…” she whispers. “This is when I’d just finished college.”

Mark smiles softly.  “And I thought how lucky I was to have a hot coed with me.”  She laughs through her tears as five images pass — moments from the early years, tender, unknowing, alive.  Then the wedding photo appears in black and white.

The word STILL lingers.

And slowly… it fades into color.  The album begins again.  Kimmy turns fully then, arms wrapping around his neck, and kisses him — long, deep, grateful.

“I love it,” she sobs softly. “I love you so much it hurts.”  He holds her, forehead pressed to hers.  “Love you too, baby,” he says quietly. Then, with a gentle grin, “But guess what… it hooks to the TV. It can be a screen saver. Plays all day. Every day.”

Later.

That night.

They’re curled together on the sofa, wrapped in blankets, the glow of the TV filling the room as Love Actually plays.  The “just in cases” scene.  Kimmy squeezes him tight.  He turns.

A long kiss.

A knowing look.

Christmas Day — After the Gifts

Mark is asleep on the sofa, one arm draped awkwardly over a pillow, the faint rise and fall of his chest steady and content. The room still smells faintly of hot chocolate and pine, the tree lights glowing even though it’s well past morning.  Kimmy sits at the dining table with her laptop open, scrolling through a few emails for school. Nothing urgent. Just tying up loose ends. She smiles to herself, knowing she won’t have to do this much longer — that this life, this pace, is already shifting.  From the living room comes a shuffle.

Mark blinks his way back into the world, hair mussed, eyes squinting.  “Did I fall asleep?”  She looks up, amused.  “You did. Hungry?”  He nods.  “Yeah… kinda.”

“Grilled cheese?” she offers.  He grins.  “Perfect. Just—” he points playfully as he follows her into the kitchen, “don’t burn the toast.”  She laughs over her shoulder.  “Hey… I don’t burn toast.”  The sizzle of butter fills the kitchen. Bread crisps. Cheese melts. They eat standing at the counter, sharing bites, stealing smiles, the kind of lunch that feels like a gift all by itself.

Later, Kimmy pauses at the edge of the living room.  Mark is back on the sofa — awake this time — staring at the television. The digital photo album plays silently now, images dissolving into one another: Vienna light, Derby smiles, Alaska ice, Christmas pajamas.  There’s a big smile on his face.  She watches him for a moment longer than she needs to.

We are so happy.

She crosses the room and kisses his forehead softly.  “Sally texted,” she says. “They were wondering if we want to have wine on the porch.”  He doesn’t look away from the screen.

“Sure.”  She smiles.

“I’m going to take a nap.”  He finally turns as she walks away, watching her disappear down the hall, the echo of her presence lingering.

We are so happy, he thinks again.

That Evening

They answer the knock at the door, Mark & Kimmy open it in matching Florida Panthers jerseys.  “Merry Christmas!” Allan calls out, already grinning.  “Was there a game today?” Sally asks.  “Yep,” Mark says. “Beat the Canadiens 3–1. Played great.”

Mark gestures toward the kitchen.  “White for you, Sal?”

“Oh wow,” Allan says suddenly, pointing toward the living room. “Look at that.”

Images continue to rotate across the screen.  “That’s so cool,” he says, genuinely impressed.  Kimmy slips an arm around Mark’s waist and gives him a quick squeeze.  “That’s what my Hallmark honey gave me for Christmas,” she says proudly. “He’s the best.”  Allan high-fives Mark.  Sally hugs Kimmy.

Out on the porch, the night air is crisp, the fire crackling softly.  “So,” Kimmy asks, settling in. “How was Christmas, you guys?”  

“Kept it small,” Allan says easily. “The big gift was the cruise this spring. We’re really excited.”

“You’ll love it,” Mark says immediately.

“And yours?” Allan asks.  Kimmy smiles.  “Loved it.”  She looks at Mark.  “Tell them about this morning, baby.”  She feigns innocence.  “What, the presents?”

“No,” he laughs. “You not waking me up.”  Everyone laughs.  

“That digital frame is a great idea,” Allan says. “So what did Kimmy get you?”

Mark stands.  “Hang on. Let me show you.”  He brings it out.  A beat.  Then laughter — real, full, unrestrained.  “Oh, that’s funny,” Allan says.  Sally tilts her head.  “I thought the shirt was for Mark. Did you get the wrong size?”  Kimmy explains, laughing through it.

“Ohhh,” Sally says. “That’s really cool. You two are so creative.”  The fire burns low. The night deepens.  Eventually coats are pulled on, hugs exchanged.

“Time to head home,” Allan says. “Some of us have to work tomorrow.”

The door closes. The house settles.  And Christmas Day — full, ordinary, perfect — comes gently to rest.

The Dance

Morning finds her exactly where she always wakes now — tucked into his arms, the house still quiet, the light just beginning to soften the room. Kimmy stirs first, smiles without opening her eyes, and presses a gentle kiss against his chest.

“Happy anniversary,” she murmurs.  Mark’s arm tightens slightly around her, his voice low and warm.  “Happy anniversary, baby.”  He shifts, already half-thinking of the day ahead.

“I’ll run to Wawa and get our coffee.”  She doesn’t answer right away — just moves closer, draping herself over him, her cheek settling beneath his chin.  “Stay,” she says softly.  He smiles, closes his eyes again… and the morning lingers there with them.

Later, coffee cups warm their hands at Wawa, the familiar smell of fresh brew and breakfast sandwiches filling the air. Allan’s already there, easy grin in place.  “Well?” Allan asks, handing over the cups. “Anything special today?”  Mark smiles, the kind that doesn’t try to hide anything.  “Dinner at the terrace. And… you know. The big surprise.”  Allan chuckles.

“Knew it.”

Across town, pickleball paddles tap lightly, laughter echoing between points. Sally leans on her paddle, eyeing Kimmy.  “So what’s the plan tonight?” she asks casually.  “Dinner,” Kimmy replies, brushing a loose strand of hair back. “We agreed — no gifts.”  Sally smirks.

“Mmm-hmm. I know Mark. Something’s up.”

Kimmy laughs, shaking her head — but part of her wonders.  The rest of the day unfolds quietly. Errands. Music playing low. Lunch leftovers. Nothing flashy. Just life — steady, comfortable, good.  That evening, Kimmy stands at the mirror, fixing her hair. Mark finishes buttoning his shirt in the bedroom, glances toward the bathroom… and notices she isn’t there.  He opens the bedside drawer and pulls out a small rectangular box.

He smiles.

The drive is calm, city lights beginning to glow as dusk settles in. They talk about nothing and everything — a shared joke, a memory, what a strange, wonderful year it’s been.  At the restaurant entrance, Mark leans in.  “Yes — we have reservations.”  Dinner passes in soft conversation and shared glances. The clink of silverware, the murmur of nearby tables, candlelight flickering between them.  When dessert plates are cleared, Mark asks quietly,

“One more drink, on the terrace?”  They step outside into the crisp night air.  The city stretches below them, lights twinkling like something just out of reach. The air is cool, clean. He takes a breath, letting it all in.

“You know,” he says softly, “I didn’t realize how much this year… how much you… would change my life.”  Kimmy’s eyes soften immediately.  “Oh, Mark…”  She steps into him, arms wrapping around his waist. He kisses her — slow, grounding, real.  “I have something for you,” he says gently.  She pulls back just enough to look at him.  “You shouldn’t have.”

He smiles.  “Couldn’t not.”  The box opens.  The diamond and ruby bracelet catches the terrace light, deep red and brilliant, unmistakable.  

“Oh…” she breathes, eyes filling. “Mark…”

“You mean so… so much to me,” he says simply.  Music drifts from inside — soft, familiar.

“Dance with me,” he whispers.  He takes her hand.  As they sway together, the lyrics float toward them:

If a picture paints a thousand words,

Why can’t I paint you?

Kimmy’s tears come quietly now.  “What, baby?” she asks softly.  She presses her forehead to his.  “I was resigned to my life. I was happy… but the dream to find a man who really sees me, who really loves me… I just never thought…”  He holds her a little tighter.

“It just took time for it to unfold,” he says. “And look at us now.”  The song continues:

If a man could be in two places at one time,

I’d be for you… tomorrow and today, beside you all the way.

“Kimmy…” His voice cracks.

“Yes?” she whispers.

“I will always be here,” he says, emotion steady and certain. “I will take care of you. And I promise to make you happy.”  She lets out a soft, broken laugh through tears.

“Oh, Mark… and I promise to—”  He gently stops her with a smile.  “You already do, honey.”  The music fades.  Arm in arm, they turn toward the city, lights shimmering below — the past behind them, the future waiting, the present holding steady and sure.

The night breathes.