Chapter 8

 Chapter Eight:  All Of This, Together

You’re The Wind Beneath My Wings:  The First Shared Flight

By late January, the house had learned them. The frantic energy of the holidays had long since faded, replaced by a quieter, steadier rhythm. Morning coffee happened without discussion. Shoes accumulated near the door in pairs instead of singles. Kimmy’s teaching schedule was taped neatly to the side of the refrigerator, and Mark’s notes—written on whatever scrap of paper was closest—had begun appearing beside it. Not as corrections. As companions.

They were at the dining table, laptops open, calendars pulled up, coffee mugs slowly cooling. Outside, the sky was low and gray, the kind of winter afternoon that made the world feel smaller and more manageable.  Kimmy scrolled slowly, her brow knitting, then easing. “Okay,” she said, more to herself than to him. “This might actually work better than I thought.”  Mark leaned closer. “Better how?”  She rotated the screen toward him. Blocks of time appeared — green where there had once been red. “If I front-load my sessions the last two weeks of February, I can create space that runs straight into spring break.”  He followed along, eyes widening slightly. “That’s… almost two weeks.”  She nodded. “Thirteen days, if we fly back on Sunday after the Derby.”  He sat back, absorbing it. “That gives us a full weekend for the Panthers game.”  “And the following weekend for the Florida Derby,” she added. “Saturday in full. Fly home Sunday.”  

“And time in between,” he said quietly. “Beach. Friends. Realtor. The house.”  She smiled. “Everything.”  They worked through the details slowly, deliberately. Realtor availability slotted neatly into weekday mornings. Buyer interest lined up without pressure. Hockey schedules cooperated. Even the weather forecast seemed, improbably, forgiving.  Compromise threaded itself through every decision — not as sacrifice, but as choreography.  “If we do the Panthers game the first weekend,” Mark said, “we can ease into seeing my friends before everything gets… heavier.”  

“Heavier meaning the house,” Kimmy said gently.

“Yes.”

She studied him for a moment. “I think that order matters,” she said. “Fun first. Memory-making. Then closure.”  He nodded. I need that, he realized. To remember who I was… without clinging to it.  They moved a few pieces again, then paused.  Kimmy scrolled back to the flight page.  And stopped.  “Wait,” she said.

Mark looked up. “What is it?”  She turned the laptop slightly toward him. Two names appeared, aligned neatly, sharing a single itinerary.  “This is the first time,” she said slowly.  He leaned in, and the realization landed with unexpected force.  

No arrivals.

No reunions at baggage claim.

No scanning crowds for the familiar face.

They weren’t traveling to each other.

They were leaving together.

“Oh,” he said softly.  They sat with it — not stunned, just quietly aware. The house seemed to notice too, settling deeper into its stillness.  “All the other trips,” Kimmy said, “were about getting back to us.”

“And this one,” Mark said, “is just… us.” She clicked confirm.  The screen refreshed. Two names. Same flight. Same seats.  They both exhaled at once.  Mark pushed his chair back slightly, a smile tugging at his mouth. “This,” he said, “is porch worthy.”  Kimmy laughed — not loudly, but warmly — and stood. He met her halfway around the table, arms folding around her in an easy, familiar embrace. Their kiss was soft, unhurried, the kind that didn’t need punctuation.

Wine appeared without discussion — red for her, white for him. Jackets were pulled on. The back door opened with its familiar creak, and the cold met them gently, honestly.  

The porch waited.

They settled into their usual spot, the creek murmuring below, the woods standing quietly in witness. In one hand, wine glasses catching the muted afternoon light. In the other, each other’s hands — fingers interlaced, not gripping, just resting.  Kimmy watched the water move for a moment before speaking. “I used to think love was about momentum,” she said. “Always moving toward the next thing.”  

Mark nodded. “Me too.”

She turned to him. “But this feels different. It feels like… alignment.”  He considered that. She’s right, he thought. We’re not chasing anymore. “I think,” he said slowly, “we’re finally standing in the same place at the same time.”

She squeezed his hand. “Who would have thought.”  The words weren’t dramatic. They didn’t need to be.  He smiled at the woods, at the quiet, at the life unfolding without spectacle. “Not me,” he said. “But I’m grateful.”  They sipped their wine, letting the cold nip at their cheeks, the warmth settle deeper. Past trips flickered through their thoughts — arrivals, departures, longings. And then, beyond that, the shape of what was coming into view.

Florida.

Closure.

Beginnings.

Not rushing toward any of it.  Just moving forward.

Together.

You’re the Wind Beneath My Wings:  Departure and Arrival

Departure day arrived without ceremony.  The house in North Carolina was quiet in that particular way that only happens when everything is already ready. Bags stood by the door, neatly lined like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence. The air held a faint trace of coffee and winter coats, and the clock on the stove ticked louder than usual.  Kimmy moved through the rooms one last time, phone in hand, doing a mental inventory she didn’t entirely trust herself to remember.  “Chargers?” she called.

“In the side pocket,” Mark answered from the hallway. “Two of them. I learned my lesson in Vienna.”  She smiled to herself. You really did, she thought.  She paused near the bedroom doorway, eyes drifting to the closet — not looking for anything missing, just noticing. The extra hangers that weren’t hers anymore. The shoes at the bottom that hadn’t been there a month ago.  Mark came up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Passport?”  She held it up without turning. “Check.”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Breathing?”  She laughed softly and leaned back into him. “Still.” They stood there for a moment longer than necessary, neither in a hurry to move forward even though everything was ready. Kimmy felt the weight of the day settle in her chest — not nerves exactly, but awareness.  We’re not going to see each other at baggage claim, she thought.  We’re not meeting. We’re leaving.  Mark felt it too, though he didn’t put words to it. He had spent years packing for trips that ended in hellos. This one felt different. This one felt like a sentence that didn’t need to circle back on itself.  The sound of tires on gravel pulled them back.

“That’ll be the Uber,” Kimmy said.

They moved together instinctively — coats on, lights off, one last glance at the room as if the house might say something back. Mark grabbed the bags, Kimmy locked the door, and when she turned around, he was already waiting, hand extended.  She took it without thinking.  They walked down the path hand in hand, luggage rolling behind them, the winter air crisp but kind. The driver greeted them cheerfully, loading the bags, and they slid into the back seat together, knees touching immediately.  As the car pulled away, Kimmy rested her head briefly against his shoulder.  “Here we go,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said. “Here we do.”

The airport passed in a blur of familiar motions made unfamiliar by the absence of separation. Security, coffee, quiet smiles exchanged over boarding passes that matched not just in time but in destination.  On the plane, they settled into their seats — a row of two, just them.  Premium economy.  Not coach.  Not first class.  Comfortable. Intentional. Unpretentious.  “Perfect,” Kimmy said, smoothing her dark gray blouse, the silk catching the light at her collar. She looked relaxed, confident, wholly herself.  Mark glanced at her, then down at his own reflection in the window — powder blue polo beneath his navy jacket, the small Breeders’ Cup logo stitched over his heart. Light khaki slacks. Familiar clothes. Familiar man.  And yet.  I’ve never traveled like this before, he thought. Not really.  As the plane taxied, Kimmy slipped her hand into his. “You okay?” she asked quietly.  He squeezed her fingers. “Better than okay.”  They lifted off together, the ground falling away beneath them, neither of them needing to say what it meant.

Florida greeted them with warmth and light.  By the time they arrived at Mark’s house, the afternoon had softened into something golden. Palm trees rustled gently. The pool caught the sky in pieces, blue broken by sunlight. Water moved slowly, deliberately, like it had nowhere else to be.  They stepped onto the porch and stopped.  Mark wrapped an arm around Kimmy’s waist, pulling her close. She slid her arm around his back, her other hand resting flat against his chest, right over his heart.  He took a breath.

“This,” he said, voice tight but steady, “has been my life for a long time.”  She didn’t interrupt.

“I loved it,” he continued. “It was good to me. It held a lot of chapters. But standing here now…” He shook his head slightly. “It feels finished.”  She looked up at him, eyes shining.  “I’m excited,” he admitted. “And I’m a little sad. But more than anything…” He swallowed. “I want to leave this life for ours. I want to spend as much of what’s ahead with you as I possibly can.”  Her eyes filled, but she smiled through it. “I know,” she said softly. “I feel the same. This place helped make you who you are. And now…” She pressed her hand a little more firmly against his chest. “Now you’re bringing all of that with you. To us.” He leaned his forehead against hers, the porch holding them, the water murmuring below.

Who would have thought.

They stood there for a long moment — not celebrating, not mourning — just acknowledging.  Then, together, they stepped inside.

You’re the Wind Beneath My Wings:  The First Night

For a change, Mark insisted on making dinner.  Kimmy didn’t argue. She leaned against the counter instead, watching him move around the kitchen with a mix of confidence and second-guessing — checking the recipe on his phone, tasting the sauce twice, frowning at it, then nodding like he’d reached a private agreement.  “You sure you don’t want help?” she asked.  “I’ve got this,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, softer, smiling, “I want to do this.”  She understood what he meant. Let me take care of us, he was saying, even if neither of them needed to hear it out loud.  They carried their plates out to the porch as the light softened into evening. The air was warm but forgiving, a gentle breeze moving through the palms. Wine glasses clinked quietly — red for her, white for him — and they talked about nothing important.  The grocery store they’d stopped at on the way in.  The neighbor’s dog who barked once and then gave up.  Whether the pool would be warm enough tomorrow.  Ordinary things. Comfortable things.  Kimmy noticed how easy it felt — how the conversation didn’t need momentum, how silence no longer meant something was missing. She rested her bare foot against his ankle under the table and smiled when he shifted closer without looking.  Later, they curled up on the sofa, a blanket pulled loosely over their legs, Netflix glowing softly in the dim room.  

“Emily in Paris?” Mark asked, already scrolling.  “Our comfort show,” Kimmy said. “Don’t judge.”

“I would never,” he replied solemnly, pressing play. They watched quietly, her head on his shoulder, his arm draped around her. As the episode unfolded, Kimmy’s mind drifted — not away from him, but inward.  She thought about the Paris ornament she’d packed away after Christmas. How it had once meant maybe. Maybe there’s someone out there. Maybe this could happen to me. Maybe one day.  Now she was here. In Florida. On his sofa. Watching a show about love found unexpectedly, with the man who had quietly become her certainty.  She took a breath.  “Isn’t it romantic,” she said softly, “how Emily found love in Paris?”

Mark smiled at the screen. “Yeah,” he said easily. “Funny how she wasn’t even looking for it. Just living her life, and then… there it was. That’s kind of how it works sometimes.”

Kimmy turned toward him fully then.  She rose up, straddling his lap without hesitation, arms sliding around his neck. His hands came to her waist instinctively, steady and warm.  “It is,” she said, her voice low and sure.  The kiss didn’t rush. It didn’t need to. It carried everything they hadn’t said and didn’t have to.  Later, the house grew quieter.

Mark emerged from the bedroom in a black Breeders’ Cup T-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, rubbing the back of his neck. Kimmy came out of the bathroom moments later, wearing The Shirt, her hair still damp, face soft and unguarded.  She held up her toothbrush. “Where should I put this?”  The question caught him off guard in the best way.

He smiled. “Anywhere you want.”  She nodded, set it beside his without ceremony, and turned off the light. They crawled into bed, Kimmy fitting against him as naturally as if the mattress had been shaped for them. Her head found its familiar place over his heart. His arm wrapped around her, hand resting at her back.  Within minutes, her breathing deepened.  Mark stared up at the slow rotation of the ceiling fan — once, twice — then glanced down at her, her face peaceful in sleep. He looked back at the fan, then at her again.  How did this happen? he thought.  How did I get this lucky?  Not just her beauty — though that still startled him sometimes — but the way she chose him. The way she stayed. The way she asked where to put her toothbrush as if the answer mattered because they mattered.  That she wanted a life with him.  He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, careful not to wake her, and let the thought settle fully, completely:

Who would have thought.

You’re the Wind Beneath My Wings:  Signals Received

They didn’t rush the morning.  The house held them gently, as if aware it was being borrowed for a season. Packing happened in loose clusters—shirts folded, then abandoned halfway through when one of them remembered something else. Music played quietly from Mark’s phone, nothing chosen on purpose, just whatever came next.  Kimmy stood at the bedroom doorway for a moment, watching him sort through a drawer that already looked thinner than it had when they arrived.  I could live a life here, she thought.  Not unhappily. Not temporarily. It would work.  But the thought didn’t pull at her the way she expected. Instead, it settled and then passed, replaced by something warmer.  I’m glad we’re going back to our home.  

They decided on the beach mid-morning, the sun already warming the air.  “I don’t want to stay long,” Mark said as they loaded the car. “You know my history. I’m not trying to add another scar to the collection.”  She smiled at him, understanding but unbothered. “I don’t need long,” she said. “I just want the ocean. And the breeze. With you.”  That seemed to satisfy him.  The beach was quiet when they arrived, the way Florida beaches sometimes are when everyone else assumes it’s already too late in the season. A few walkers, a couple stretched out with books, the tide rolling in with no agenda.  They laid their towels down near the water but not too close. Shoes off.  Sunglasses on. Kimmy tilted her face toward the sun, eyes closed, hair lifting slightly in the breeze.  “This,” she said, “is exactly enough.”

Mark checked his watch, then hers. “If we head back in about forty-five minutes, we’ll have time to change before the realtor.”  She nodded. “Plenty.”  They didn’t talk much after that. Not because there was nothing to say—but because nothing needed framing. Kimmy watched the horizon, letting the sound of the waves rearrange her thoughts. Mark watched

her, noting how easily she belonged here, how she didn’t need the beach to prove anything.  I loved this place, he thought.  But I don’t need it to love her.  As they stood to pack up, Kimmy brushed the sand from her hands and glanced down the shoreline.

“Wasn’t that dinner… here?” she asked suddenly.  Mark followed her gaze. A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Down there,” he said, pointing. “Just past those palms.”

She turned to him, surprised. “Really?”

“I picked this stretch on purpose,” he admitted. “Felt right.”

She stepped into him then, arms wrapping around his middle, her cheek against his chest. He held her, feeling the truth of it settle—past and present standing side by side without friction.  They packed up quietly and headed back.

The realtor’s office smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood, the waiting area familiar in a way that felt both comforting and strange. Mark leaned back in his chair, Kimmy close beside him, her knee brushing his.  Brad appeared in the doorway with a grin. “Mark! About time.”  They stood, hands shaken, backs patted. Brad’s eyes lingered on Kimmy with curiosity, then interest. Well, he thought, this explains a few things.  “Brad,” Mark said, his voice easy, sure, “I want you to meet my fiancée. This is my Kimmy.”  The word landed like a held breath released.  Kimmy felt it bloom in her chest, her hand instinctively squeezing his arm as they sat. Brad’s eyebrows lifted just slightly before his smile widened.

“Well,” he said warmly, “it’s a pleasure.”  They talked numbers. Timelines. Possibilities. And then Brad leaned back, folding his hands.  “I’ve got good news,” he said. “We received an offer this morning. Solid one. The buyers are motivated. Would you be ready to sell by the end of the month?”  Mark didn’t hesitate. He glanced at Kimmy—one look, one shared understanding—and smiled.  “We will certainly be ready by then.”  Brad nodded, already writing notes, but Kimmy caught it. The word. The certainty.

We.

They signed papers. Shook hands. Stepped back out into the sunlight.  At the car, Mark opened her door, and she stopped him gently. She wrapped her arms around him, rose onto her toes, and kissed him—slow, sincere, full of gratitude.  “What was that for?” he asked, grinning. “Not that I won’t take one every hour on the hour.”

“We,” she said, smiling brightly.

He blinked. “We?”

“You said we,” she said softly. “I love you so much.”

Understanding dawned, and he laughed quietly. “Remember Christmas Day? Walking back from meeting your neighbors? Talking about the universe sending us signals?”  She nodded.

“Apparently,” he said, opening her door, “message received. Action engaged.”  She laughed, slid into the seat, and reached for his hand as he closed the door.

You Got a Friend:  Before the Table

Kimmy knew she was nervous long before she admitted it to herself.  She stood in the bedroom at Mark’s Florida house, late afternoon light  spilling across the bed where her dress was laid out with care. Everything was ready — and yet she kept moving, fingers busy, thoughts restless.  “Have you seen my lipstick?” she asked, opening a drawer she’d already checked.

“Top of the dresser,” Mark said, glancing up from buttoning his shirt. “Left side.”  She found it, nodded, then held up a pair of earrings. “Too much?”

“They’re perfect.”

She smiled faintly, then tilted her head at the mirror. “Hair up or down?”

“You look like you,” he said gently. “That’s the right answer.”  She laughed, but her eyes betrayed her. They’re going to notice the age, she thought. Before anything else.  Mark watched her for a moment, recognizing the signs. He reached into his jacket pocket.

“I got you something.”  Her breath caught as he placed the necklace in her palm — delicate gold, a small ruby heart at its center.  “Oh,” she whispered.  

“I want you to wear it tonight,” he said. “Not because you need it. Because I want you to know you belong with me. In every room.”  

She lifted her eyes, shining. “I love it,” she said. “I love you.”

He fastened it around her neck, fingers lingering. She touched the pendant, grounding herself.  “Okay,” she said, taking a breath. “Let’s do this.”

The restaurant lobby buzzed softly when they arrived.  “Mark!” Jeff called, stepping forward with an easy grin.  Introductions flowed naturally — hugs, handshakes, warm smiles. Gina took Kimmy’s hands in hers  immediately.  “So nice to finally meet you,” Gina said. “We’ve heard so much.”

“All good, I hope,” Kimmy replied, smiling.

Jeff laughed. “He hasn’t stopped smiling in months.”

Mark shook his head. “I plead the fifth.”

As they chatted, Mark stayed close to Kimmy, hand at her back. Curiosity flickered in a few glances — not judgment, just assessment.  While they waited to be seated, Jeff tilted his head toward the bar. “Walk with me a second?”  Mark nodded, excusing himself.  “She’s beautiful,” Jeff said quietly. “And I’ve never seen you this happy.”

“I am,” Mark said simply.

Jeff hesitated. “She’s Chloe’s age. That would’ve been… weird for me.”  Mark nodded, unoffended. “I get that.”

“So?” Jeff asked.  “So this is real,” Mark replied. “And it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jeff studied him, then smiled. “That’s all I needed to hear.” They returned to the group, Jeff slipping an arm around Gina’s shoulders. “You picked a good one,” Gina said warmly to Kimmy.  At the other end of the lobby, Bob caught Mark’s eye and waved him over.

“River cruises,” Bob said enthusiastically. “Pam tells me you two have done the Danube.”  Kimmy lit up. “We did. Vienna was incredible — but honestly? The best part was waking up every morning knowing we didn’t have to rush anywhere. Just… being together.”  Mark smiled. “She wore my shirt half the trip.”  Pam laughed. “That’s how you know.”  Bob nodded. “It’s not the places. It’s who you’re with.” As they talked, April approached Kimmy quietly.  “Do you mind if I ask you something?” April said.

Kimmy nodded.  “I’ve known Mark a long time,” April said carefully. “I guess I just want to understand… what you see. I worry about him. About the age thing. About whether this is… lasting.”  Kimmy met her gaze, steady but emotional. “I understand that,” she said. “And I don’t take it lightly. I love him. I’m not here because it’s easy or exciting. I’m here because it’s right.”  April studied her, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Bob glanced over, catching Mark’s attention just as the host called their table.  Mark crossed the room as Kimmy’s eyes misted. “You okay?” he asked softly.  She nodded, voice thick. “I am.”  He wrapped her in a deep embrace, holding her until she steadied. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered.  At the table, Mark paused.  “Everyone,” he said, voice clear. “I want you to meet my Kimmy.”  The emphasis was unmistakable.

“We’ve been together for over a year,” he continued, “and this is very, very serious.”

He turned to her, squeezing her hand. “You’ll be seeing her from now on,” he said. “Right by my side. Forevermore.”  Applause followed — genuine, warm, heartfelt. Gina dabbed her eyes. Bob nodded approvingly. Even April smiled.  As they sat, congratulations murmured quietly, Kimmy finally exhaled.  She was exactly where she belonged.

You Got a Friend:  After the Table

They spilled out onto the sidewalk in small clusters, the restaurant doors closing softly behind them. Night had settled in fully now, warm and alive, the air carrying that unmistakable Florida hum.  Goodbyes overlapped.

“So good to finally meet you,” Gina said again, hugging Kimmy warmly.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Jeff added. “Don’t be late.”

“Derby fashion,” Pam reminded with a grin. “No excuses.”

Bob laughed. “You two are going to love it.”

Mark stayed at Kimmy’s side through every exchange, his presence constant, grounding. As people spoke, she found herself absently touching the small ruby heart at her collar, her fingers circling it as if checking that it was still real.  I hope I did okay, she thought. I hope they see what we see.  April gave her a small smile before turning toward her car. Cathy squeezed her hand. “You’re lovely,” she said simply.  One by one, headlights flickered on, doors opened, waves were exchanged.  When it was just the two of them left standing, Mark opened Kimmy’s door — then paused. He stepped closer instead, one hand at her waist, drawing her gently in.  “I know that wasn’t easy,” he said quietly. “But you were great. And let me tell you — I know these people. They loved you. Tomorrow’s going to be wonderful.”  Her shoulders relaxed at last. She smiled, relief washing through her, and pulled him close. “Thank you,” she said softly.  They slid into the car and pulled away.

A few minutes into the drive, Mark’s phone chimed — once, twice, then again. A pause. Then another.  He laughed. “Can you check those?”  Kimmy unlocked the screen.

Jeff first: She’s special. Haven’t seen you this happy in years. See you tomorrow.

Gina: Love her. Truly. Can’t wait for Derby day!

Cathy: You chose well. She fits you.

Pam: What a night. So happy for you both — and don’t forget, fashion matters tomorrow.

As Kimmy finished reading the last message, she let the phone rest in her lap. The glow from the screen faded, but the warmth stayed.  I passed, she thought. Not in a test-you-cram-for way.  In the way that matters.  In the way that means you belong here.  She leaned over then, kissed Mark’s cheek, and squeezed his arm — a gesture that said everything she couldn’t quite put into words yet.  Mark’s smile was so wide it almost surprised him.  He glanced over at her, eyes soft, voice completely unguarded.  “God, I love you, girl.”

A Horse With No Name:  Getting Ready

Derby Day had a different kind of morning light.  It wasn’t brighter, exactly — just… more awake. The Florida sun came in through the blinds like it had plans, painting pale stripes across the bedroom floor and warming the air before either of them had fully decided they were ready to move. Outside, palm fronds shifted lazily, as if even the trees knew it would be a day for watching and waiting and cheering. Kimmy stood at the dresser in her slip, humming without realizing she was doing it. The sound was small, content — the kind of hum that didn’t belong to nerves. Mark noticed.  He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched her in the mirror while he buttoned his white dress shirt, the fabric crisp against his skin. He had woken up earlier than she had, but instead of pacing — his old habit on big days — he’d made coffee, set out the day’s “Derby essentials” on the kitchen counter like a coach laying out a game plan, and then returned upstairs with a calm he didn’t entirely recognize as his own.  Maybe it was the month.  Maybe it was her.  Maybe it was simply the fact that this year, he wasn’t doing any of it alone.  Kimmy turned, holding up her dress. “Okay,” she said, smiling. “Are we sure this works?”

Mark’s eyes softened immediately. “We’re sure.”

She slipped the dress over her head, smoothing it down, then stepped back to look. It was knee-length, light and summery, with a halter neckline that framed her shoulders in a way that felt both graceful and confident. The pattern was woven — warm browns and camel tones intersecting like careful design rather than loud stripes. It wasn’t trying to be flashy. It was elegant, intentional, quietly beautiful.  It matched him.  Not in a costume way. In a we planned this because we wanted to way.  Kimmy studied herself in the mirror, then glanced back at him. “It feels… very Florida Derby,” she said.  

“It feels very you,” Mark replied. “Which is exactly what I like.”  Her cheeks warmed at that. She reached toward the dresser for the little ruby-heart necklace, then paused.

Mark stepped behind her and took it gently from her hand. “Let me,” he said. Kimmy lifted her hair, exposing the line of her neck, and Mark fastened the clasp with practiced care. His fingertips lingered for half a second after the chain settled, as if he were silently confirming that this, too, was real. That he could still be surprised by how natural it felt to do something so intimate in such a simple way.  She touched the pendant and looked at him through the mirror.  “Thank you,” she said softly.

“I like you wearing it,” he admitted. “It reminds me you’re here.”

“I am,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”  The words landed warmly. Not as reassurance. As fact.  Mark turned away to pull on his trousers, and Kimmy watched him now — watched the way his movements were calm and unhurried. He was dressed for the day, yes, but he wasn’t dressing like a man trying to prove something. He was dressing like a man attending a tradition he loved with the person he loved.  A camel-colored suit hung from the closet door. He slid into the jacket, smoothing the lapels. The color looked good on him — warm, classic. There was something about it that made him seem both timeless and present, a man who had lived many chapters and had somehow arrived at this one with gratitude instead of regret.  Kimmy leaned against the doorframe, smiling without realizing she was doing it.  Then she remembered something and snapped lightly back into action.

“Bow tie,” she said. “Where’s your bow tie?”

He held it up like a small trophy. “Right here, ma’am.”

She walked over, took it from him. “Sit,” she instructed, nodding toward the edge of the bed as if she were giving a command to a man who had once been a long distance friend, but was now… something else entirely.  Mark sat obediently, hands lifted in mock surrender. “Yes, boss.”  Kimmy stepped close and began adjusting the bow tie, fingers moving with careful precision. The brown and white pattern echoed her dress in just the right way. She tugged at one side, then the other, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You know,” Mark said, watching her, “you are much more confident today.”

Kimmy paused, her hands still on his collar. “I am,” she admitted.

“You were already great last night,” he said.  She resumed adjusting. “Last night was… different,” she murmured. “That was me walking into your world for the first time.”  

“And today?” he asked.

She looked up, eyes steady. “Today feels like I’m part of it.”  Mark’s throat tightened slightly.  He cleared it with a soft laugh. “Well, you are.”  Kimmy finished the tie and smoothed his lapel with a gentle pat. “There,” she declared. “Now you look like you belong at the Derby.”  Mark stood, turned slowly like a model, arms slightly out. “Approval?”

Kimmy stepped back, head tilted, a playful smile on her lips. “Approved,” she said. “Highly.”  He leaned down and kissed her — not a sweeping kiss, not the kind that belonged in a movie montage, but a quick, affectionate one that said: we’re good.  Then she held up her hands to her hair, suddenly thoughtful again.  “Okay,” she said, half to herself, “hair up or down?”

Mark leaned against the dresser, watching her with amusement. “What’s your instinct?”

“My instinct is up,” she said. “It’s Florida. It’s going to be warm. And if I sweat through this day, I will never recover.”

Mark laughed. “You will recover.”

Kimmy shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a fascinator.”

“Oh?” Mark said, feigning offense. “I could wear one.”

Kimmy laughed then — bright, confident, fully herself — and the sound seemed to change the room. Mark felt his shoulders loosen. The nervous edge that sometimes came with “big moments” simply wasn’t there.  Kimmy gathered her hair into a ponytail, smoothing it at the crown, then reached for the small fascinator on the dresser. It was tasteful — structured but not loud, attached to a clip that would sit at an angle near her temple. She held it up, practicing placement.  “Like this?” she asked.  Mark stepped closer, angled his head, then gently adjusted it with his fingertips. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly like that.”  Kimmy froze for a beat as he fixed it. The intimacy of it — the fact that he knew where it should go, that he cared enough to get it right — made her chest ache in that familiar way.  “You’re good at this,” she said quietly.

“At fascinators?”

“At… us,” she corrected.

Mark met her eyes. “I want to be.”

They moved downstairs, still in that calm glow, and the kitchen looked almost comically organized for the kind of day ahead.  On the counter, Mark had arranged items like an itinerary made physical:

• keys
• wallet
• sunglasses
• a small envelope with cash
• a folded printout with parking info and entry tickets
• and a stack of neatly folded “picks” pages, where Mark’s handwriting covered the margins with notes

Kimmy stopped and stared at it, amused.  “You made a Derby command center,” she said.  Mark shrugged. “Tradition.”  Kimmy walked up and picked up the “picks,” flipping through them. “You have opinions,” she said.  

“I have strategies,” he corrected.

She raised an eyebrow. “Same thing.”

Mark laughed. “We’ll see if you still think that after the fifth race.”

Kimmy set the pages down and began her own checklist aloud. “Keys. Wallet. Tickets. Phone. Charger.”

Mark gestured to the envelope. “Money.”

Kimmy nodded. “Money,” she repeated, then looked at him with mock seriousness. “Do we have luck?”  Mark leaned in. “Luck comes when we show up.”

Kimmy smiled, then reached across the counter to take his hand. “Okay,” she said. “Then we’re lucky.”  They stood there for a moment, hands linked, the counter between them holding all the objects of a day that was about to become memory.  Kimmy’s gaze drifted toward the hallway, toward the suitcases lined up neatly against the wall.  “Hard to believe we’re almost packed to go back home tomorrow,” she said.  Mark followed her gaze and felt something gentle tug at him — not sadness, not exactly, but awareness.  “Yeah,” he said softly. “We’ve got most of it done.”  Kimmy leaned into him, her shoulder brushing his jacket. “Florida has been wonderful,” she said. “But it doesn’t feel like… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like I’m leaving something behind.”  Mark looked down at her, eyes soft. “Because you’re not,” he said. “You’re taking me with you.”

Kimmy’s eyes shone briefly. “Good,” she said, and the word came out more emotional than she intended.  Mark smiled. “Good,” he echoed.  A quiet beat passed — the kind of beat where the present feels thick with meaning, even when nothing dramatic is happening. Kimmy touched her necklace again, the ruby heart cool under her finger.  “You know what’s funny?” she said.

“What?”

“This trip…” she began, then paused, searching. “It could have felt like a big test. Like… proving something. To your friends. To your old life. To whoever might be watching.”

Mark nodded, listening.  “But it hasn’t,” she continued. “It’s just… us. Doing life.”  Mark felt his chest warm at that. He stepped closer, hands resting lightly at her waist.

“That’s the whole thing,” he said. “I don’t want fireworks all the time. I want… this.”

Kimmy smiled. “Me too.”  He stared at her for a moment longer than necessary, then shook his head slightly, as if still amazed.  “This is going to be great,” he said, voice full. “Doing this together.”  Kimmy’s smile widened — bright, excited, certain. “I’m so excited,” she said. “To be with you. To do this with you. To be… among your people. And feel like one of them.”  Mark’s eyes softened. “You already are.”  He picked up the keys from the counter like a starting gun. Kimmy grabbed her clutch, slid her arm through his, and together they moved toward the door.

Not rushing.

Not bracing.

Just stepping forward — dressed for the day, ready for the world, and entirely certain about each other.

A Horse With No Name:  Derby Day

The track announced itself long before they reached the gates.  The hum of voices, the distant echo of music, the bright spill of color moving toward a single shared purpose — it all came together in that particular way only race days do. There was excitement, yes, but also tradition, memory, and the subtle pride of people who dressed not just to be seen, but to belong.  They arrived together, Mark’s hand resting lightly at the small of Kimmy’s back as they moved through the crowd.  Everyone was already there.  Bob and Pam were easy to spot first — Bob in a light gray suit with a playful tie patterned in tiny horses, Pam elegant and composed in a soft blue dress and a structured hat that sat just right. Ron and Cathy stood nearby, Cathy radiant in a cream outfit with coral accents, her posture still carrying echoes of cheerleader confidence refined by time. April was unmistakable — Hawaiian-style shirt tucked neatly into slacks, comfortable shoes, practical and present, her smile easy and genuine.  And then there was Kimmy.  The compliments started almost immediately.

“Oh my goodness,” Pam said, stopping mid-sentence. “Look at you.”

Cathy smiled warmly. “You two look fantastic.”

Bob nodded appreciatively. “That’s a Derby couple if I’ve ever seen one.”

Kimmy felt the warmth wash over her — not the nervous kind this time, but something steadier. She touched the ruby heart at her neck unconsciously, Mark’s presence beside her constant and reassuring.  Then laughter rippled through the group as Jeff arrived, unmistakable under a wide-brimmed cowboy hat that looked like it had stories of its own. Gina followed, and Kimmy had to laugh — the woman’s floppy Derby hat was magnificent, unapologetically oversized, drawing smiles and comments from passersby. Chloe walked with them, dressed adorably, polished and pleasant — and Mark noticed, quietly, how his eyes never lingered. Kimmy was the gravity now. Introductions blended into greetings, hugs, playful teasing. “All right,” Mark said finally, raising his voice just enough to gather attention. “Rail photo.” They moved together toward the fence, the track stretching out behind them in sweeping green. Mark flagged down a nearby couple.

“Would you mind?” he asked, handing over his phone.

The woman smiled. “Of course.”

She took the photo, then paused, looking up. “How about individual shots of the married couples?”  Kimmy’s heart lifted.  “Yes,” she said immediately, squeezing Mark’s arm, the word full of joy before she even realized it.  They posed, laughter breaking through formality, moments captured easily, naturally. No one corrected the assumption. No one needed to.  Up in the grandstand, the seats were perfect — front row for Mark and Kimmy, five behind them, four in the row above. Mark handed out his selection sheets like a professor distributing a final exam.  Jeff laughed. “I hope you’re as good this year as last. Six winners out of ten — including the Derby? That’s pressure.”

Mark grinned. “I do my best work under pressure.”  The races unfolded in a blur of color and sound.  Horses thundered past, the crowd rising as one, hats bobbing, programs flapping. Cheers erupted, groans followed, laughter filled the gaps. They won a few. Missed a few by inches. Celebrated near-misses as enthusiastically as victories.  Mark leaned close to Kimmy during one race, pointing out strategy, explaining the pace. She listened, absorbed, delighted — not just by the sport, but by him in his element.

Between races, Jeff leaned in. “She’s perfect,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Mark smiled, eyes never leaving Kimmy. “I do.”

Jeff lowered his voice. “You going to get her a ring?”

Mark chuckled, then leaned in close, curling a finger. “Already bought it. Asking soon.”

Jeff’s grin was immediate. “I knew it.”

Later, Pam found Mark near the rail.

“I told Bob last night,” she said gently, “that while others might not see it right away, I can see it. She completes you.”

The words settled deep in Mark’s chest. He nodded, touched. “Thank you.”

Across the way, Gina pulled Kimmy aside.

“I have to tell you,” she said, smiling, “I’ve never seen a woman glow like you do. And Mark? He looks ten years younger.”

Kimmy laughed softly. “I think we just bring out the best in each other.”

The afternoon stretched on — sun dipping, shadows lengthening, friendships deepening. By the final race, Kimmy realized something quietly, profoundly:  She wasn’t visiting anymore. She was part of the group.  Mark glanced at her, catching her smile, and felt the same certainty settle in his bones.  This is right, he thought. All of it. They stood together as the crowd began to thin, the day wrapping itself into memory.  And it felt complete — not because it was over, but because it had been fully lived.

A Horse With No Name:  After the Races

By the time they reached the clubhouse, the day had settled into their bones.  The sun had dipped low enough to soften the heat, and the energy that followed them inside wasn’t loud anymore — it was loose. Jackets were unbuttoned. Shoes nudged off under the table. Laughter came easier now that no one was watching the clock or the tote board.  As they gathered near the host stand, Jeff clapped his hands together, his voice booming just as everyone expected it would.  “All right,” he announced, grinning. “Let’s count them up. One… two… three… four… five.”  He paused dramatically, holding up his hand.

“Five big winners Mark picked today!”

Cheers erupted immediately. Someone whistled. Pam clapped enthusiastically. Kimmy laughed, glancing up at Mark, who shook his head like he hadn’t done anything special at all.  “Wait, wait,” Jeff continued, holding up a finger. “Not the six from last year — but hitting that one-twenty exacta in the Florida Derby? That sealed the day. You’re a pro, Mark.” 

More applause. Mark laughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “I got lucky,” he said.

Kimmy leaned in. “You did not,” she whispered. “You were incredible.”

Dinner unfolded easily after that.  Race stories overlapped — the horse someone almost bet on, the one no one saw coming, the groans, the cheers, the moments everyone stood at once without realizing it. Plates arrived and were passed. Wine was poured. Bread baskets emptied.  But as the evening went on, the conversation drifted — away from races and toward people.  Bob reminisced about their first Derby together years ago. Pam talked about how traditions sneak up on you, becoming something you don’t realize you’d miss until they’re threatened. Cathy laughed about how she’d never worn heels like that again and lived to tell the tale.  And woven gently through it all were comments about Kimmy.

“She fits right in,” Gina said at one point, smiling across the table.

“I can see why you adore her,” Pam added softly.

“You’ve brought something really good with you,” Bob told Mark.

Kimmy felt it all — not spotlighted, not scrutinized — just welcomed.  She watched Mark laugh, watched him lean into stories, watched the way his friends knew him and loved him without conditions. This is his world, she thought. And he let me walk into it.  Mark, for his part, noticed how easily Kimmy moved now — how she reached for shared plates without asking, how she laughed at inside jokes she’d just learned, how no one looked to him anymore for cues on how to treat her.

She belonged.

When the evening began to wind down, it did so naturally. Chairs scraped back. Hugs lingered. Plans were made for “next time” without urgency or obligation.  Outside, the night air felt cooler, quieter.  They said their goodbyes slowly — one last laugh, one more hug, reminders to text when they got home. Mark stayed close to Kimmy, his hand in hers, the day still humming through him like a song he wasn’t ready to stop hearing.  As they walked toward the car, Mark was smiling to himself — already replaying moments, already thinking what a day.

Then he noticed.

Kimmy had gone quiet.

He glanced over and his heart jolted — small tears traced down her cheeks, catching the glow of the parking lot lights.  “Hey,” he said immediately, stopping. “Hey, baby — what’s wrong?”  His voice shifted instantly, protective, alarmed. His body turned fully toward her, hands coming up as if to shield her from anything that might have caused it.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” His mind raced. What did I miss? Who said something? Did I fail her somehow?  Kimmy stepped into him before he could spiral any further, wrapping her arms around his middle, pressing her face into his chest.

“They’re wonderful,” she said softly, her voice muffled. “Your friends… they’re just wonderful.”

Mark blinked, confused. “Okay,” he said gently. “But… so?”

She lifted her head, eyes wet, voice trembling now. “I feel so guilty,” she said. “For taking you away from them. From this. From the life you’ve had here.”

The words caught in her throat. “They love you so much.”  Mark’s breath left him in a rush.  He pulled her closer — not quickly, but fully — folding her into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His own eyes burned now, the emotion surprising him with its force.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick. “Listen to me.”  He held her there, forehead resting against her hair, the hug deep and steady, not letting go.

“You are what I want most in this life,” he said. “You. Our life. Us. In our home. In North Carolina.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Nothing about that feels like loss to me.”  Her arms tightened around him as he spoke, her body softening against his.

“This,” he continued, kissing her temple, then her hair, then holding her again, “this is everything.” They stayed like that for a long moment — the world quiet around them, the day settling into memory — a long, lasting hug that didn’t rush to end because neither of them needed it to.

A Horse With No Name:  It’s All About Us

The car was quiet in the best way.  Not silence — just the kind of calm that settles in after a day that has given you everything it had to give. Mark drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting where Kimmy’s fingers had found his arm and decided to stay.  The GPS chimed softly, then again — and Mark smiled.  “Can you grab those?” he asked. “I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to read.”

Kimmy picked up his phone, her body warm and heavy with happiness.

The first message was from Jeff.

Hell of a day. Five winners. That exacta was pure genius. Derby legend.  She laughed softly and kept scrolling.

From Gina:

I can’t stop smiling. You two are just… right. Thank you for letting us be part of today.  Kimmy felt her throat tighten.  

And then from Pam:  I told Bob on the way out — some people just belong together. You and Kimmy are one of those couples.  She didn’t say anything at first. She just handed the phone back to Mark, her fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary.  As they rounded the final turn toward the driveway, Kimmy squeezed his arm.

“I love you so much,” she said quietly.

Mark glanced over, his smile easy and sure. “Right back at you, babe.”

The porch light was on when they pulled up — a warm glow against the night. And there, sitting just inside the circle of light, was a package. Kimmy leaned forward, pointing. “What’s that?”

Mark’s smile widened. “Oh… I know.”

She turned to him, eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you do?”

He chuckled as he shut off the engine. “You go get ready for bed. I’ll grab it.”

She hesitated, suspicious, then smiled. “Okay,” she said. “But I’m watching you.”  Inside, the house felt hushed — the good kind of quiet that follows celebration. Kimmy disappeared into the bedroom and emerged moments later in the shirt, already easing into the comfort of home.  Mark brought the package in, slit it open carefully, and lifted the smaller box from inside. He carried it into the bedroom, jacket off, tie loosened, the day finally beginning to settle into his bones.  He held out a red gift box.  “I ordered this,” he said, his voice soft. “For us. I’m really glad it came today.”  Kimmy took it slowly, her fingers trembling just a bit. She opened the lid, peeled back the bubble wrap — And then she saw them.

Mickey. Minnie.  Hands linked. Mid-step. Forever in motion together.  The tears came instantly — not quiet ones, but the kind that spill when the weight of a day finally releases. She pressed the figurine to her chest, shoulders shaking.  “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, Mark…”  He wrapped his arms around her immediately, holding her close as she cried.

“I love you so much,” she said through tears. “You don’t know.”

Mark rested his chin against her hair, his voice steady and certain. “Oh, I think I do.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes red, heart full.  “It’s all about us,” she said.

He nodded, kissing her forehead. “It always has been.”  They stood there for a long moment — the day complete, the future certain, the present enough.  And when the light finally dimmed, there was nothing left to say.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road:  Leaving Florida

The morning felt softer than it should have.  Overcast skies hung low, the kind that muted color and sound, and a gentle rain fell steadily — not enough to chase anyone inside, just enough to make everything feel slower, deliberate. The palms barely moved. The lake behind the house lay smooth and gray, its surface stippled by rain.  It had been a month since the Derby.  They were back in Florida, but it already felt different — like visiting a place that had finished its work in your life.  The house was almost empty now. The movers had come days earlier, packing what Mark wanted shipped north and arranging for the rest to be sold. Brad had taken care of everything, just like he said he would. All the paperwork had been done online — signatures clicked instead of inked, a life transitioned quietly through screens and trust.  Mark stood in the doorway of the living room, hands in his pockets, taking in the bare walls.  He didn’t rush.  This house had held years — routines, solitude, celebrations, long evenings with the television on low and the windows open to the Florida air. It had been a good house. A faithful one.  He walked slowly through each room, pausing here and there — not searching for anything, just letting memory surface and settle.  Then he stepped out onto the pool deck.  The rain touched the water lightly, concentric circles spreading and disappearing. Beyond the pool, the lake stretched out, framed by trees he’d watched grow older alongside him. He leaned on the railing, breathing in the damp air, feeling the weight of it all — not heavy, exactly, but full.  Kimmy came out quietly behind him.  She didn’t speak at first. She simply slipped her arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder, as if she knew words might interrupt something that needed a moment.  “You okay?” she asked gently.

Mark nodded, then shook his head, then laughed softly at himself. “Yeah,” he said. “No. Both.”  She smiled against him. “That makes sense.”  He looked out over the lake again. “I loved this life,” he said honestly. “It was good to me. And I’m grateful for it.” He turned slightly toward her. “But I’m also… ready. Ready in a way I’ve never been before.”  Kimmy tightened her arm around him.  They stood there together as the rain continued its quiet rhythm, neither trying to fix the moment, both understanding that it didn’t need fixing.  After a while, Mark exhaled and straightened. “Okay,” he said softly. “We should go. Brad will be here soon, and the Uber’s on its way.”  Brad arrived just as they were bringing the suitcases to the front door.

“Congratulations, buddy,” he said, gripping Mark’s hand firmly. “You got a great price.”

Mark smiled. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Brad glanced at Kimmy, then back at Mark. “Good times here,” he said. “Remember when—”

Mark chuckled. “Yeah. I do.”

The Uber pulled up to the curb, tires hissing slightly on the wet pavement.  Mark set the suitcases down, then paused. He handed the keys to Kimmy.  “You do it,” he said.  She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.  Kimmy stepped back inside, took one last look around — the echo of an empty house — and turned off the light. She locked the door, the click loud in the quiet morning.  Mark was waiting when she turned back. He kissed her — not dramatic, not lingering — just a soft, certain kiss.  Elton John drifted from the Uber’s speakers as they stepped inside, the melody familiar and oddly perfect.  Kimmy passed the keys to Brad through the open window. “Take care of it,” she said.  “You bet,” Brad replied. “Safe travels.”  

As the Uber pulled away, Kimmy glanced back once, watching the house slip from view around the corner.  “Will you miss it?” she asked.  Mark thought for a moment, then answered honestly. “I’ll remember it,” he said. “But I’m so excited to begin the life I’ve always waited for. The one I wanted.” He reached for her hand. “With you.”

Kimmy smiled, her eyes bright.  As the Uber merged onto the highway, the clouds began to thin. Sunlight broke through just enough to brighten the road ahead.  A sign flashed by overhead:

FORT LAUDERDALE INTERNATIONAL — 5 MILES

Kimmy leaned into him, fingers entwined with his.  And just like that, Florida became memory — not lost, not erased — simply complete.

Carolina On My Mind:  Home

Baggage claim felt… strange.  Not wrong. Just different.  The carousel hummed to life and Kimmy stood beside Mark, arms folded loosely, watching the black rubber belt curve toward them. For years, travel had meant separation — one of them arriving, the other leaving, counting days, measuring time. Now they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for luggage that would go to the same place.  Her bag appeared first.  Kimmy reached for it automatically, tugging it off the belt with practiced ease. She turned back toward Mark just as his followed — the familiar suitcase, scuffed just enough to tell stories. Then she stopped.

“Wait,” she said softly.  Mark looked at her, confused at first, then curious.

She pointed.  Hanging from the handle was his Viking luggage tag. She’d seen it a hundred times — but not like this. He’d flipped it over. The address window now held her home address in North Carolina.  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.  She stepped into him instead, arms sliding around his middle, her head resting against his shoulder. Mark wrapped her up immediately, the world narrowing to the quiet hum of the airport around them.  “I want to remember this moment,” she whispered.  Mark closed his eyes. So do I, he thought.  The drive home felt different too.  Not because the road had changed — but because the meaning had. The familiar turns came into view, trees lining the drive, the house appearing at the end like it had been waiting patiently.  Kimmy noticed it the instant the car slowed.

“It looks different,” she said.

Mark glanced over. “The house?”

She nodded. “Because it’s ours. Because we don’t live apart anymore. And we won’t.”  Mark smiled — not wide, not showy  — just settled. “That’s exactly right.”  

As they got ready for bed that night, Kimmy came out of the bathroom in “the shirt” and Mark had a new sleep shirt…..it was a Carolina Tarheels t-shirt. “Oh I like that” Kimmy said “Thought I needed to adapt” Mark smiled.

 The next week unfolded quietly, beautifully ordinary.  Mark was up first most mornings, slipping out before the sun fully committed to the day. One morning he grabbed the keys and drove the familiar three miles to Wawa, enjoying the feeling of routine settling

He ran into Ray at Wawa — the same Ray who’d pulled up in the pickup on Christmas Day.  “Well look at you,” Ray said, grinning. “Back in town?”

Mark chuckled. “No. Here to stay.”  Ray nodded approvingly. “We love our life here.”

Mark smiled, thinking of the house, the porch, the woman waiting back home. “I’m certain I will too.”

He returned with coffee for both of them.  Kimmy was already up, sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, in class — the familiar glow of her teaching face on the screen. She wore the shirt. Beside her laptop sat the Mickey and Minnie figurine, hands linked, forever mid-step.  Mark leaned in, kissed her softly.

“Thank you,” she said.

Then she stood, rose onto her tiptoes, kissed him again — longer this time.

“What was that for?” he asked.

She smiled, eyes warm. “I’m just really happy. I love you so much.”

Later, while Kimmy worked from the porch, Mark sat with his laptop nearby. He clicked through quietly, heart thumping just enough to remind him to breathe.

Jewelry store.

My Orders.

Anticipated Arrival: Tomorrow.

He grinned.

“What are you so happy about?” Kimmy asked, stepping out with her mug.

“Oh, nothing,” he said casually.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re up to something.”

He laughed. “Let’s plan a dinner party. Invite the neighbors. Have a Game Night!”

Two nights later, the house buzzed with voices and laughter.

Helen and Ray came first, followed by Allan and Sally — newlyweds from across the road, still glowing with the energy of people who had just begun.  Pictionary became competitive immediately.

Girls versus boys.

At one point, Kimmy laughed and said to Sally, “I’m terrible with geography, but I loved my World History and Econ classes.”  She turned toward Mark, smiling.  He was beaming.

“Oh, I couldn’t find North Carolina on a map if it was labeled,” Sally said.

Belly laughs erupted.

Kimmy drew her card: Geography — Cuba.

She drew a large blob with a little tail.

“The US!” Sally shouted immediately.

Mark groaned. “Oh my God. Really?”

Allan chuckled. “Women… go figure.”

Kimmy paused, then drew a circle off the left side of the blob — near where Oregon would be.

“CUBA!” Sally and Helen shouted together.  Ray slapped his forehead. Mark dropped his head, laughing. Allan stared.  “You have to be kidding me. If that’s the US, that’s the west coast. Cuba is off the east coast and south near Florida. How could all three of you think that is Cuba?” The women laughed harder.

“Because it’s girl power,” Kimmy declared.

Later, with drinks refreshed, conversation turned quieter.  “So what’s it like?” Kimmy asked Sally gently. “Being married?”  Sally smiled. “We lived together for over a year. Thought the ceremony would be fun, but no real change.”  Allan squeezed her hand. “Except… it feels different. Better.”  Kimmy met Mark’s eyes. He squeezed her arm.  

That night, getting ready for bed, Kimmy wore the shirt. Mark pulled on a new powder-blue oversized t-shirt — Carolina Tar Heels stretched across the front. She studied him.  Did he set all this up? she wondered. He seems so excited.  She curled up beside him, fitting perfectly into the familiar space.  

“That was fun,” Mark said, arm around her. “That was great. I love our new friends.”

Kimmy rested her head against his chest as he reached for the lamp.  “It was fun,” she said softly. “I love you. And this will all be great.”  Mark clicked off the light.  They lay there, breathing in sync, already home.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours

Monday arrived with that particular Carolina calm — not dramatic, not loud, just steady. The sky was pale and open, the air cool enough to make the porch feel like a promise. The trees beyond the creek held onto their spring green like they were proud of it, and the house sat quietly in the middle of it all, as if it had always been waiting for the right kind of life to fill it.  Inside, Kimmy was already at her laptop, a stack of notes and printed pages beside her, a mug in hand. She wore the shirt, of course — the soft, oversized fabric that had become part comfort, part love language. The Mickey and Minnie figurine sat beside her computer like a small guardian of their story, hands linked, forever mid-step.  Mark came in from Wawa with coffee and that familiar “I’ve got the world handled” energy, the kind that always made her feel a little more safe without him ever trying to be her protector.  He set her cup down carefully in front of her. “Your fuel,” he said.

Kimmy smiled. “You’re my hero.”

Mark leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take it.”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing playfully. “I have a virtual department meeting this morning,” she reminded him. “It’s going to last several hours. Remember?”

“I remember,” Mark said, too quickly.

Kimmy noticed the quickness. His voice wasn’t nervous exactly… but there was an edge of brightness. Like someone trying to be casual while holding fireworks behind his back.  “What are you going to do?” she asked.  Mark shrugged, as if this had been a question he hadn’t already rehearsed an answer for. “I’ve got some ideas,” he said. “Drive around. Get familiar with the area.”

Kimmy took a sip of coffee, studying him. “Uh-huh.”  She glanced down at her mug. “Before you go,” she said, “will you get me some creamer?”

“Sure,” Mark replied, heading toward the refrigerator.  He reached for the handle—then paused.  There, held by a magnet, was the printed photo from Derby Day. The two of them down the stretch, caught mid-cheer, joy unfiltered. Next to it, Kimmy’s fascinator was looped around the magnet with a single strand of white string, like a tiny ribbon tied around a memory.  Mark stared for a moment, smiling without realizing it.  We’re really doing this, he thought. We’re really building a life that has photos on a fridge.  Kimmy watched him from the table, sensing the pause. “What?” she asked.

Mark turned, still smiling. “Nothing,” he said softly. “Just… ”  He opened the fridge, grabbed the creamer, and set it down like it was an ordinary morning.  Kimmy’s eyes flicked to the photo. Then back to him.  He’s excited, she thought. Anxious. Like he knows something I don’t.  She felt that familiar pulse of intuition.  Maybe it’s just adjusting, she told herself. New routine, new town, new life.  But her fingers drifted, unconsciously, to the ruby heart necklace at her throat.  Mark kissed her gently, a quick goodbye kiss that lasted a beat longer than usual. “See you later,” he said.

Kimmy held his gaze a moment. “See you later,” she echoed.  When the door closed, the house settled into quiet.  Kimmy stared at her screen, but her thoughts were elsewhere.  What are you up to, Coach Love? she wondered, smiling despite herself.

Mark drove with the windows cracked just enough to let the Carolina air in.  He wasn’t going aimlessly. He had a plan. Not a nervous plan, not a frantic one — a quiet plan that had been sitting in his chest for months, growing heavier and sweeter the closer it came to becoming real.  He pulled into the travel agency lot and parked.  Inside, the woman behind the counter looked up and smiled like she already knew.  “Well, hi there,” she said. “Are we all set?”  Mark’s heart thumped once, hard.

“We’re set,” he said.  She walked him through a neat packet — crisp pages, organized tabs, flight times, confirmations. She slid a folder across the counter, then a specially designed envelope sealed with care.  On the front, in simple print, the logo read:

Dream Vacations

She raised an eyebrow. “So,” she said, amused, “what are you up to, Mark?”  Mark smiled — not sheepish, not secretive — just happy.  “It’s a big surprise,” he said.

“For Kimmy?”

“For Kimmy,” he confirmed. “She doesn’t know. Not even a clue.”  The woman laughed softly. “Well,” she said, handing him the envelope like it was sacred. “Then I hope she cries.”  Mark chuckled. “Me too.”  Back in the car, he sat for a moment with the packet on his lap, taking a breath.  Then he started the engine and drove to the mall.

The jewelry store was bright and quiet, the kind of place that made you lower your voice instinctively.  The clerk looked up and smiled. “Oh hi,” she said immediately. “You said you’d be here before ten, and it’s 9:45.”

Mark blinked. “You keep track.”

“I like prompt,” she replied with a grin.

He smiled back. “Today seemed like a good day.”

She reached beneath the counter and brought out a case. “Here it is.”

When she opened it, Mark’s breath caught.  It was the ring Kimmy had chosen — the one that had lived in the back of his mind ever since the day they’d stood in that jewelry store, not quite able to believe they were even looking.  In the velvet case, it looked perfect. Simple, stunning, luminous. Not flashy. Not trying too hard. Just… right.  Mark stared at it like it might shine too brightly to be real.  It looks perfect in the case, he thought. It’s going to look even better on her finger.  He signed what needed signing. He nodded when appropriate. He thanked the clerk like he’d just been handed a future.  And when he walked out, the day felt warmer.  Not because the weather changed.  Because his life had.  By lunchtime, Mark was humming.  Actually humming.

Kimmy sat at the table with a stack of grading, red pen in hand, her eyes drifting over to him every few seconds. He moved around the kitchen with the energy of someone who couldn’t sit still because sitting still might make his joy spill out too quickly.  He buttered bread. He set a pan. He laid out two plates.  Grilled cheese.  Not fancy. Not symbolic. Just comfort.  Kimmy watched him, smiling, then narrowed her eyes.  “What is up with you?” she asked over her shoulder.  Mark tried to look innocent. He failed.  “Just… really happy,” he said.

Kimmy leaned back in her chair. “Uh-huh.”

Mark turned with a grin. “Lunch is almost ready. Let’s eat on the porch.”  Kimmy carried the plates out first, setting them down gently. The porch was bright with spring — trees in full leaf, the creek moving in the distance, sunlight filtering through branches in a way that made everything feel like it was breathing.  Mark came out a minute later carrying two glasses of wine.

Kimmy blinked. “Wine? At lunch?”

Mark shrugged. “It’s a special day.”

Kimmy stared at him. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Now you’re being obvious.”

Mark laughed. “Sit.”

She sat, but her body was alert now, her heart already beginning to thump.  Mark reached down beside his chair and brought up two plain boxes.  One was rectangular. The other was square — about six inches wide.  Neither gave away a thing.  Kimmy’s fingers drifted to her necklace again.  “Mark,” she said quietly, “what is happening?”  Mark leaned back, smiling like a man savoring a moment he’d waited a long time to deliver. “I have two surprises for you.”

Kimmy’s eyes widened. “I knew something was up.”

Mark slid both boxes across the table. “Pick one first.”

Kimmy stared at them, then pointed. “Okay. That one.”

Mark smiled. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“Pick again,” he said, amused.

Kimmy laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Pick again.”

She pointed to the other one. “Fine. That one.”

Mark pushed it toward her. “Open it.”

Kimmy lifted the lid slowly.  For a split second, she thought it was empty.  “It’s… nothing,” she said, confused.  Mark’s smile deepened. “Oh, something is inside,” he said softly. “And it’s bigger than you can imagine.”  Kimmy reached in, her fingers brushing paper.  She pulled out a thick envelope, crisp and official, with one logo on the front:

Dream Vacations

Her heart stumbled.  She looked up. “What—”

“Open it,” Mark said.

Kimmy slid out the first page.  The heading stopped her heart:

Your Ten-Day Alaska Vacation

For a second, she couldn’t breathe.  Then she let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob.  “Oh my God,” she whispered.  Her eyes filled instantly. She sprang up from her chair, knocked her napkin to the porch floor, and threw her arms around him.  “This is the best,” she cried into his shoulder. “This is the best surprise you could have given me.”  Mark held her tightly, smiling against her hair.  Then Kimmy pulled back slightly, eyes narrowed through tears.

Mark chuckled. “What?”

Kimmy pointed at the second box. “You said two surprises.”

Mark slid it toward her.  Kimmy sat down slowly, hands trembling now.  The square box was completely generic — nothing about it screamed jewelry. Nothing gave it away.  She lifted the lid.

Inside was cotton.  Kimmy blinked. “Is this a joke?”

Mark’s voice softened. “Keep going,” he said.  Kimmy’s fingers sank into the cotton, pulled it aside—

And there it was.

A small black jewelry box.

Her entire body froze.  Her heart didn’t pound anymore. It exploded.  She stared at it like it might vanish if she blinked.  Mark leaned toward her, his voice gentle, steady. “Open it, honey.”  Kimmy lifted it with both hands.

For a split second, she thought she might faint.  Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid.

The ring was dazzling.  It caught the daylight and scattered it like a promise.  Kimmy made a small sound — almost a gasp — and brought her free hand to her mouth.

Mark’s eyes were wet now too, and he didn’t try to hide it.

“I love you so much,” he said, voice thick. “Will you marry me?”

Kimmy stood up so fast the chair scraped loudly.  Then she was on him — kisses everywhere, cheeks, forehead, lips, his jaw, his hair — her entire body trembling with joy and disbelief.  Mark laughed and held her tightly, burying his face against her neck.

Then he pulled back just enough, smiling through tears. “Wait,” he said, laughing softly. “You didn’t answer.”  Kimmy stared at him like he’d asked if she wanted water.  

“YES,” she cried. “You know it’s yes!”  Mark let out a breath like he’d been holding it for a year.  Kimmy looked down again at the ring, then back at him, eyes wild with happiness.

“When did you—how did you—”

Mark smiled. “The day after we looked, I ordered it.”

Kimmy’s mouth fell open. “But we… you didn’t—”

Mark’s eyes twinkled. “Just in cases.”

Kimmy’s sob-laugh broke free again and she pressed her forehead to his. “Who would have thought,” she whispered.  Mark kissed her gently, the kind of kiss that wasn’t trying to be romantic — it just was.  “It’s always been you,” he whispered back.  That evening, after dinner, late spring air wrapped the porch in softness.

They stood leaning on the rail, wine glasses in hand. The woods and creek beyond them were quiet, the world settled.  Kimmy kept staring at her hand.  Then she held it up like she still couldn’t believe it.  

“See my ring?” she asked, laughing in disbelief. “I’m getting married.”

Mark smiled, eyes warm. “You are, baby.”

Kimmy turned toward him, still grinning, still glowing.

Mark’s voice dropped lower, more intimate.

“You are going to be my wife,” he said simply.

Kimmy’s breath caught again.

Mark reached for her hand, squeezed gently. “Now we,” he added, smiling, “we will be the newlyweds.”  Kimmy leaned into him, head on his shoulder, her fingers laced with his.

The porch light glowed behind them.  The creek kept moving.  And everything ahead felt like the next right thing.