Chapter 17

 Chapter Seventeen:  All I Want For Christmas Is You

And the Plot Thickens

The Monday after Thanksgiving arrived softly, the way early winter always did—no announcement, just a subtle shift. The trees outside had thinned to bare branches and tired leaves clung stubbornly to sidewalks, their color faded but not forgotten. Morning light came later now, slower and cooler, stretching across the neighborhood like it was still deciding whether to stay.  Mark slipped out of bed without waking Kimmy, careful with the door, careful with the floorboards, careful with the quiet. She was curled on her side, hair spilled across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. He paused for a half second to take her in—safe, warm, home—then pulled on a jacket and headed out into the morning.

The Wawa parking lot smelled like coffee and cold air and familiarity. Allan was already there, hands wrapped around a paper cup, breath puffing white as he laughed at something on his phone.

“Morning, brother,” Mark said, lifting his cup in greeting.

“Morning, dude,” Allan replied. “You look suspiciously happy.”

Mark smiled. “Funny you say that.”

They stood near the hood of Allan’s car, steam rising from their cups as they talked in low voices—numbers, calendars, possibilities. Antarctica wasn’t a dream anymore; it was taking shape. Allan had run the finances. Mark had checked availability. Dates aligned. Time off could be managed.

“So you good if I book it through our travel agent?” Mark asked, trying to sound casual.

Allan didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. Man… thank you for thinking of us. Really.”

Mark nodded. “Couldn’t imagine doing something like that without you two.”

They clinked their cups together, the sound small but ceremonial, then went their separate ways—two men walking back into ordinary mornings carrying something extraordinary in their pockets.  Mark came home whistling, coffee in hand, a tune that didn’t quite land on any specific song. Kimmy looked up from her laptop, one eyebrow already raised.

“What’s your deal?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” he said too quickly.

She smiled suspiciously but let it go. He noticed the stack of boxes lining the hallway—ornament tubs, light strings, a folded artificial tree box balanced on top.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Kimmy didn’t even look up. “Duh. It’s right after Thanksgiving. It’s tree time, honey.”

“WHOOO HOOO!” Mark cheered, earning a laugh.

“When I get home from pickleball, we’ll put it up,” she said, grabbing her bag.

“Perfect. Have fun. Love you, baby.”

“Love you,” she replied, watching him head out to the porch, still humming, still smiling to himself.  She glanced back at her screen, fingers hovering over the keys, and thought, He’s up to something.  Later that morning, under a pale sky and the rhythmic pop of pickleballs, Kimmy and Sally leaned against the fence during a water break.

“So,” Sally said, wiping her brow, “tell me everything. Disney.”

Kimmy’s face lit instantly. “Oh my gosh. It was… magical. We got there early—like really early—and Main Street was practically glowing. Mark was like a kid. He kept stopping just to look around.”  She laughed, shaking her head. “We split this ridiculous sundae, rode everything, stayed for fireworks. It just felt like… us. Like the whole world paused and let us have the day.”

Sally smiled. “You needed that.”

Kimmy nodded. “We did.”

They talked about Thanksgiving next—Sally’s house full, too loud, too busy, and blessedly quiet once everyone left.  “Has Allan been acting weird?” Kimmy asked suddenly.  Sally tilted her head. “Funny you mention that. He’s been… too happy. Like he knows something.”  Kimmy laughed. “Mark too.”  They exchanged a look.

“What could those boys be up to?” Sally said.

“Nothing good,” Kimmy replied, grinning as they headed back onto the court.

When Kimmy got home, Christmas music filled the house—soft instrumental carols drifting from the TV. Mark stood proudly beside the fully assembled tree.

“Okay, okay, Mr. Impatient,” she said. “Give me ten minutes to shower and change.”

“Take all the time you want,” he said, humming along.  From the bathroom, she called out, “What is up with you?”  He smiled to himself and said nothing.  She handed him the lights and immediately took charge.  “No, higher. Okay—now this strand. Space them out. A little lower. Wait—back up. There. No, wait…”  Mark followed every instruction with exaggerated seriousness, smiling the entire time. Nothing like Christmas with this girl, he thought. She’s going to be so surprised.

Kimmy plugged in the lights. “Pretty good.”  She stepped closer, adjusted three strands. “Now… that’s better.”

“Only you have the right vision for our tree,” Mark said, patting her head.  Ornaments came next.  “You first,” he said, handing her the Swiss Alps.  She studied it, found just the right branch. “Your turn—Miami.”  He placed it carefully. Then Alaska.  “Our honeymoon,” she said softly, kissing his cheek before hanging it.  Disney came next.  Finally, together, they placed Mickey and Minnie front and center.  They stepped back, arms around each other, the tree glowing warmly.  “I love this time of year,” Kimmy said.

“And I love spending it with you,” Mark replied.

At the end of the week, Mark walked in from another morning Wawa run to find Kimmy fully dressed, purse in hand.  “Uh oh,” he said. “Somebody’s got plans.”

“We’re going to the mall,” she said brightly. “Looking for ideas.”

The mall was dressed in December—garlands wrapped around railings, oversized ornaments dangling from the ceiling, soft carols echoing off polished tile. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. Shoppers moved slower than usual, like everyone had collectively agreed to linger.  They wandered hand in hand until Mark’s gaze drifted toward a jewelry store.  Kimmy stopped him.

“Promise me, Mark. No big jewelry surprises.”

“Who, me?” he asked innocently.

“I’m serious. We said a quiet Christmas.”  She held his hand firmly.  He took both of hers, looked into her eyes. “Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my—”

“That’s not funny.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

“If you break it, you may have to sleep in the back room.”

He raised his hands. “Fair.”

She laughed. “Actually… that would punish me too.”

They walked on arm in arm, the lights above them twinkling, the season wrapping quietly around what neither of them yet knew was coming.

Party On, Wayne

Two weeks before Christmas, Mark wakes before dawn, not from an alarm but from awareness — the gentle weight of Kimmy’s hand resting over his heart, the soft rhythm of her breathing against his chest. He lies still, listening, letting the quiet settle around them.

Still, he thinks, a slow smile forming.

I still can’t believe this is my life.

Carefully, he eases out of bed, pulling on clothes in the dim light, one last glance at Kimmy curled into the pillow she always steals before slipping out the door.

Wawa

Allan is already there, leaning against the counter, paper cup in hand. Mark lifts his coffee in greeting.

“Morning,” Mark says.

Allan grins. “Big day.”  They step aside, voices low, conspiratorial.

“Sally got any clue?” Mark asks.

Allan chuckles. “Not a chance.”

“Kimmy either.”

Allan nods. “So when you inviting us over?”

“Dinner day after tomorrow,” Mark says. “I’ll slide it in naturally. She’ll love it — you know she loves you guys.”

Allan’s eyes light up. “After dinner… porch?”

Mark smiles. “Exactly.”

“And then,” Allan adds, “we stand dramatically…”

“…and make the announcement,” Mark finishes. “Each with our own envelope.”

Allan slaps Mark’s hand. “Awesome, dude.”

The cups clink — quiet, deliberate. A plan sealed.

Later That Day

“Honey, I’m home!” Kimmy calls.  “In the kitchen,” Mark replies, shuffling papers, paying the bills. “Hey… there’s a $135 charge from Amazon. That you?”  Kimmy laughs and playfully smacks his shoulder. “It’s Christmas time, baby. You’re not allowed to ask questions like that.”  She kisses his cheek.  Mark smiles to himself. She never remembers it’s my Amazon account.  

“Christmas is all about surprises,” Kimmy adds. “You like them as much as I do.”

“That’s right,” Mark says, giving her a playful pat. His smile lingers a beat longer than usual.

Laundry Day

The next day unfolds in ordinary perfection — shirts on hangers, socks paired with ritual precision.  “Tomorrow’s my eye injection,” Mark says casually.

Kimmy pauses. “I know, honey. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Gets easier every time. What would you think about dinner the day after? Our favorite place.”  She beams. How does he always know?

“Yes.”

“Still going to the grocery today?” she asks. “Want to come?”

Mark smirks. “Did you make a menu? Then a list? Just like I used to teach my Mickonomics students?”  She laughs. “What fun would that be?”

Dinner Out

Mark finishes his ribeye and twice-baked potato. Kimmy slides half her salmon onto a to-go plate.  “You done?” he asks.

“Lunch tomorrow,” she smiles.

He keeps his voice casual. “I was thinking… maybe invite Allan and Sally over Christmas Eve. Dinner and drinks.”  Kimmy brightens instantly. “That’s a great idea!” Her phone’s out before he finishes.

Ding.

“All in,” she announces.

“Perfect,” Mark says, calm on the outside, triumphant inside.

Operation Antarctica is officially in motion.

Christmas Eve

The house smells like garlic and tomatoes. Mark straightens the living room while Kimmy stirs sauce.  “What if,” Mark says lightly, “we wore our matching Viking shirts tonight? Like a ‘we loved traveling with you guys’ thing.”

Kimmy spins. “I love that.”

She pulls him close. “Taste this.”

He kisses her neck. “Delicious.”

“Not me — the sauce!”

“Oh,” he says, grinning. “My mistake. Perfect Kimmy sauce.”

The Reveal

Dinner settles into that easy, lived-in cadence the four of them always seem to find without trying.  The spaghetti is perfect — rich, slow-simmered, the kind that clings to the fork. Mark pours wine, Sally laughs about Allan insisting he grated the cheese “just right,” and Kimmy keeps glancing between the two men, noting how relaxed Mark looks when he’s exactly where he wants to be.  “Nobody does spaghetti like Chef Boy-Ar-Kimmy,” Allan declares, holding up his glass.

Sally nods. “Seriously. This is dangerous. I’d eat like this every night.”

Kimmy grins. “That’s how I trap him.”

Mark doesn’t argue. He just reaches for her hand under the table, squeezing once.

After dessert, they migrate naturally to the porch — plates cleared, fire pit glowing low, the night crisp but not cold. Apple pie à la mode disappears faster than anyone admits. The wine tastes better outside. It always does.

Sally leans back in her chair, sighing. “This is perfect.”

Mark stands. “I’ll grab refills.”

“I’ll help,” Allan says, already halfway up.

Inside, Allan pulls the envelope from his jacket, eyes bright.  “Ready, General?”

Mark nods. “Ready.”

When they step back onto the porch, Kimmy’s radar is already humming.  “What’s going on,” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you both look like you’re about to confess something?”

Sally tilts her head. “Yeah… what did you guys do?”

Mark clears his throat. “Well… Christmas is about surprises.”

“And,” Allan adds, “we may have gotten a little carried away.”

Envelopes appear.  Kimmy opens hers slowly. Her breath catches.  “Does yours say—”

“…Ant-arc-tica?” Sally finishes, stunned.

Silence. Then laughter. Then disbelief.  “You’re serious?” Kimmy whispers.

Mark nods, unable to stop smiling. Allan and Mark high-five like teenagers who just pulled off the perfect prank.  Sally throws her arms around Allan. “We can afford this?”

“All handled,” Allan says proudly.

Kimmy turns to Mark, hands on his chest, eyes shining. “When did you even—”

“Later,” he laughs, already knowing there’s no getting out of this explanation.  The rest of the night dissolves into maps, dates, imagined ice, shared wonder — four adults grinning like kids who just cracked open the biggest secret of the year.

Bedtime

Later, the house is quiet.  Mark is pulling on his sweats when he feels Kimmy press against him from behind — warm, familiar, certain. Her arms wrap around his waist. Her cheek rests between his shoulder blades.

“Have I ever told you,” she murmurs, voice low, “how much I love you?”

He turns slowly, draws her into him. “Maybe once or twice.”

She smiles against his chest, then looks up. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“Too excited?” he asks.

“Too happy,” she says simply.

He slides a hand along her back, holds her there a moment longer than necessary. “I can think of one thing more amazing than Antarctica.”  She arches an eyebrow, already knowing. “Oh?”  Before he can answer, she laughs softly. “Oh my gosh — and tomorrow… presents.”  He groans playfully, lifting her off her feet just enough to make her laugh again.  “Come here,” he says, carrying her the last few steps to bed.

The lights go out.  The rest of the night belongs to them.

Christmas Day

Mark wakes slowly, one eye cracking open to the pale winter light filtering through the curtains. The house is quiet in that special Christmas-morning way—no alarms, no obligations, just the faint hum of heat clicking on somewhere in the walls. Then he notices the hand.  Kimmy’s hand rests flat over his heart, fingers warm and familiar, her thumb making the smallest, absentminded circles. He turns his head.

She’s wide awake.  Hair pulled over one shoulder, eyes bright, barely blinking, she’s watching him like a kid waiting for permission to tear into wrapping paper.  “Oh hi honey,” she says sweetly, far too innocently. “You’re awake!”  He smiles, voice still thick with sleep. “Baby… we said a slow, quiet morning, didn’t we?” He stretches a little. “I can go get coffee.”

She pouts instantly—an exaggerated, theatrical thing—and tilts her head.  “Orrrrr,” she counters, “we could open presents first… and then coffee.”

There’s a beat.

Then she grins, eyes lighting up. “WHHHEEEEE—PRESENTS!” She practically launches herself out of bed. “Let’s do it right here! I’ll go get them!”

She’s gone in a flash.

Mark rolls onto his back, chuckling softly as he stares at the ceiling. He swings his legs out of bed, shaking his head as he heads for the bathroom.  Brushing his teeth, foam at the corner of his mouth, he catches his own reflection smiling back at him.  Ten-year-old girl, he thinks. Trapped in the body of a beautiful thirty-something woman.  And God help me, I love her for it.  He rinses, wipes his mouth, and heads back into the bedroom.

Kimmy is already there, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Two neat piles of presents—five on each side—are arranged with ceremonial precision. She beams up at him like she’s waiting for applause.  He stops in the doorway.  “Wait,” he says softly. “You are… so adorable.”  She blushes, shoulders rising just a little.  He reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

Kimmy immediately grabs a bright red bow off one of the boxes and plops it on her head. She clasps her fingertips together under her chin, tilts her head, and beams at him—pure, unfiltered joy.  Mark laughs. “That… that right there is all I will ever want for Christmas.”  He snaps two photos, chuckling, then climbs onto the bed beside her.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” he says, kissing her gently.  He leans his forehead against hers. “A few years ago, I’d get coffee, watch the Disney parade, and think Christmas was… a good day.” He exhales softly. “Who would have thought I’d have this.”

Kimmy’s voice softens. “I used to really like Christmas,” she says. “But it’s different now. I love it.” She looks at him. “I love you.”

He smiles. “It’s a special—”  “OK ME FIRST!” she interrupts, reaching for a box.  He laughs, pointing quickly. “We said quiet. No big gifts. Small boxes first!”

She nods solemnly. “Rules matter.”  Dish towels for her.  Handkerchiefs for him.  A crossword puzzle book for her—“OOOOOHHH I love puzzles!” she coos, clutching it to her chest.

A new wallet for him.

A phone case for her.

New earbuds for him.

Then she sits back, hands on her knees.  “Now,” she announces, eyes sparkling, “the good ones. Big presents.” A pickleball outfit for her.  A Mickey shirt for him—“Oh honey, this is cool.”  A new pickleball racket—she gasps. “This is just like Sally’s new one… I’m gonna kick her butt!”  A Miami polo for him.

She looks at the clock. “While you get our coffee, I’ll fix breakfast.”

At Wawa, Mark pulls up to see Allan already there.

“Merry Christmas, Dude.”

“Merry Christmas, Allan.”

Allan grins. “Why don’t you guys come over this afternoon? Bowl game on. Girls can do what they do.”

“Let me check with Kimmy.”

Back home, she doesn’t hesitate. “That’s a great idea.” She texts Sally. Done.  They curl up on the sofa, coffee steaming in their hands, watching the Disney parade.  When Mickey and Minnie float into view, Mark feels it—the familiar tightening in his chest.  Deep breath. I’m okay. I’m okay.  He glances down at his Fitbit. 57.

Kimmy notices instantly. She sits up. “Honey…”

“It’s okay,” he says slowly.  She squeezes his arm. “Breathe through it, baby. I’m here.”

He exhales. “Whew… okay.”  They watch the kids lining the streets, faces lit with wonder.  “Look how happy they are,” Kimmy whispers.  “And their parents,” Mark adds.  They kiss quietly and turn back to the screen.

Later, at Allan and Sally’s, the afternoon unfolds easily. Football cheers and groans. Pickleball chatter. Familiar laughter.  Driving home, Kimmy’s phone dings.

“It’s Helen wishing us Merry Christmas.”

“Ask her if she and Ray want to come over for wine and pizza tonight.”

She smiles. “Yes.”  That evening, the porch glows softly. Wine. Pizza. Easy conversation.  

And later still…

Mark flips through channels in bed when Kimmy comes in, wearing the shirt. She jumps into bed, curls into him, fitting perfectly.  “That was nice,” she murmurs. “A really good day.”  He pulls her close. “It was.”

He kisses her hair. “Love you, baby.”

She sighs contentedly as the lights go out.

Mama Mia

It was a couple of days after Christmas, that soft in-between stretch when the house still smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, and the world hadn’t quite decided whether to rush forward again.  Mark crunched up the drive with the mail tucked under his arm, the cold air sharp against his cheeks. Bills, flyers, a small padded envelope—and then one larger packet that stopped him in his tracks.

Miami University Alumni Association.

He smiled before he even opened it.  Inside, the header read Your Final Documents, and beneath it—pages of carefully organized promise. Dates. Cities. Hotels. Names he could already hear Kimmy saying out loud with wonder. Rome. Florence. Lake Como. Venice.  He leaned against the counter, thumbing through the itinerary slowly, deliberately, savoring the thought.  She’s going to love this, he thought. And I love showing her the world.

Across town, Kimmy was catching her breath between pickleball games when Sally leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel conspiratorial.  “Hey—my jeweler friend called. The package should arrive tomorrow. FedEx.”  Kimmy’s eyes lit instantly. “Perfect. We’re going out for our anniversary. That’s when I want to give it to him.”

Sally grinned. “He sent me a photo. It’s a true wow.”

Kimmy smiled to herself, heart fluttering with the quiet thrill of it. Mark’s going to love this, she thought. And I love surprising him.  On their anniversary afternoon, Kimmy came through the door, dropping her bag.  “Home, baby—where are you?”  She stepped into the kitchen and stopped short.

A big bouquet of flowers sat on the counter, reds and creams and winter greens spilling outward. She picked up the card.

Happy Anniversary. Love you—STILL.

Her smile softened.  Mark came in from the porch, an empty hot-chocolate mug in hand. She noticed the Baileys bottle on the counter and laughed softly.  “That must have been good,” she teased, looping her arms around his neck for a quick kiss. “Thank you for the flowers. I love you.”  Forehead to forehead, he smiled. “You’re welcome. Not nearly as pretty as you are—or will be tonight.” He paused, then added casually, “Hey, I got you something. Not for our anniversary, though.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with a small jewelry box, opening it in his palm.  “Remember when your charm bracelet broke? I had it fixed. And polished.”  Kimmy gasped softly, lifting it out and letting the charms slide through her fingers. “It looks brand new.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll wear it tonight.”  Mark smiled too, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. Exactly to plan.

That evening, Mark adjusted his tie in the mirror. The light gray jacket sat just right against the wine-colored tie, silver catching the light. He lifted his handkerchief briefly, steadying his vision.

“Good,” he murmured. “Just right.”

From the bathroom, Kimmy called out, “Honey—you’re wearing that wine shirt, right?”

“Yes, sweetie. Why?”

“Well…” her voice danced. “I bought a new dress. Surprise.”

He smiled to himself. I’d buy her a million dresses if it makes her smile.

“I’m sure it’s nice,” he called back.

Then she rounded the corner.  And his breath stopped—not from fear, not from memory, but from the sheer sight of her.  The dress was simple, chic, wine-colored, cut just daring enough at the neckline to show her necklace, the hem brushing mid-thigh with confidence. But when she turned—when he saw the open back, the delicate straps framing the smooth curve of her skin—Mark sank down onto the bed, staring.  Kimmy twirled slowly, arms out. “Like?” she asked, coy grin in place.

“Wow,” he whispered, reverent.  She walked over, helping him back to his feet. “That’s the reaction I was hoping for,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“Come on, my husband,” she added softly. “Take me to dinner. Let’s celebrate us.”

Later, at the Terrace Bar, dinner finished and wine glasses nearly empty, Mark nodded toward the door.  “To the terrace,” he said. “It’s our thing. Our place.”  Kimmy nodded, fingers brushing her purse—checking. Ready.  They stood near the rail, city lights glittering below. Mark reached into his coat pocket, and Kimmy smiled, anticipation humming.

“Wait,” she said. “Me first.”

He blinked. “What? You’re stealing my moment.”

She smiled. “Maybe this year, I get one.” She emphasized the I.

From her purse, she pulled out a small ring box and handed it to him.

Mark’s eyes widened. “What did you do, honey?”

“Well,” she said lightly, “Sally has a friend. He’s a jeweler. Open it.”

He did.  Inside lay a Miami University class ring, polished, solid, unmistakable.  His breath caught.  “I’ve always wanted—”  “Turn it,” Kimmy said softly.

On one side: MEd ’76.  On the other: the university crest—and the Miami Indian brave.  “Miami Redskins,” he whispered.  Her eyes shone. “Do you like it?”

A tear slipped free before he could stop it. She did this, he thought. For me.  “I love it,” he whispered, pulling her close. “Thank you. Wow.”

She stepped back, glowing. I got him, she thought. My evening is complete.  Mark cleared his throat, smiling. “Okay. Your turn.”  From his pocket came a small PANDORA box.  Her eyes widened. “You! That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

He shrugged innocently. “Open it.”  Inside was a charm—Italy.  “Ohhh,” she breathed. Then frowned slightly. “But we haven’t—”  “Look,” he said, pulling out his phone.  First, the lock screen—Kimmy on the bed, bow on her head, smiling.  “Wait… are we—”

“Happy anniversary,” he said softly. “Want to go?”  “Yes!” She leapt into his arms, laughing through tears. “I love you so much!”  Mark feels her still buzzing against him, her breath quick, her eyes darting between his face and the phone.  “Wait,” she whispers again, as if afraid the moment might vanish. “Show me. Really show me.”  He smiles, that quiet, pleased smile of a man who knows he’s done something right.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Come here.”

He turns the phone slightly so they’re shoulder to shoulder, her arm sliding around his waist, his thumb steady as he unlocks it.

First swipe.

A photograph fills the screen—the Colosseum at dawn, the stone glowing honey-gold, shadows stretching long across the empty floor.

“Rome,” Mark says, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “Two nights. We land early, drop our bags, and just…walk. Espresso. Cobblestones. You looking up at everything while I try to pretend I know where I’m going.”

Kimmy lets out a breathy laugh, eyes misting. “I’ll want to touch everything.”

Second swipe.

Pompeii, frozen streets under a wide blue sky.

“Naples,” he continues. “One night. We walk where history stopped. I’ll tell you stories. You’ll make me stop every five minutes because you want a picture.”

She nods, transfixed. “I already know I’ll cry here.”

Third swipe.

A sun-drenched Tuscan villa, vines crawling up stone walls, a table set with wine glasses catching the light.

“Three nights,” Mark says, smiling now. “This is the heart of it. Wine tastings. Little villages. Long dinners where we forget what time it is.”

Kimmy presses her hand flat to her chest. “Oh my God…Mark…”

Fourth swipe.

Lake Como—water like glass, mountains rising straight out of it, pastel buildings stacked along the shore.

“Two days,” he says. “Boat rides. Quiet mornings. You in one of those light dresses you love, coffee in hand, telling me we should never leave.”

She laughs through tears. “I will absolutely say that.”

Final swipe.

Venice at dusk—lamps glowing, reflections trembling in the canals.

“And then,” Mark says softly, slowing his thumb, “Venice. Two nights. No rushing. Just us. And one evening…”

He pauses, glancing at her.  “…a gondola. At night.”  Kimmy’s breath catches. She turns to him fully now, both hands gripping his jacket.  “You thought of everything.”

He shrugs gently. “I just thought of you.”  She presses her forehead to his, eyes closed, overwhelmed in the best way.  

“I can see it,” she whispers. “I can see us there.”

Mark smiles, holding her close as the phone lowers between them, the images still glowing faintly on the screen—no longer plans, but memories waiting to happen.  And somewhere in the darkened theater, someone exhales and thinks:

Oh. This is love.