“After all this time? Always.”—J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The airport was bustling with the usual buzz of travelers heading out of town for business or pleasure. It was easy to tell which category everyone fit in. Tourists had a mellow air about them and tended to wear stretchy fabrics, comfy shoes, and sometimes Hawaiian shirts. Even when catching a flight bound for Des Moines. Business travel was another story. I was no stranger to traveling in a suit and tie with my computer and a small overnight bag. I’d become an expert in utilizing every precious moment on a plane to prepare for an impending meeting. Needless to say, today was an anomaly.

Zane and I were leaving for our honeymoon. Not only were we traveling for pleasure, we were doing so as newlyweds. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the idea that this was real. Zane Richards was my husband. Unbelievable. We’d been married for less than twenty-four hours. Perhaps the novelty would wear off eventually, but I was determined to enjoy every bit of it on a paradise island in the middle of the Pacific. We could lie in hammocks under palm trees, sipping piña coladas while we reminisced about the greatest day of our lives.

“Do we have time for another Bloody Mary?” Zane asked in a raspy voice.

“We have forty minutes before the flight boards. Do you really want one?”

“It’s not a ‘want,’ it’s a ‘need.’ I can’t believe I’m flying all day while nursing a hangover. I didn’t think I drank that much last night. Come on. I’ll carry your bag,” he said, hiking his carry-on over his shoulder then hefting mine from the chair next to me.

I followed him to the contemporary-style bar a short walk from our gate. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the runways and reflected off every shiny surface. I took a seat at a high table near the window while Zane waited for our cocktails and pulled out my cell to check the time again. And since it was out, I figured I might as well check out a few of the photos from our wedding yesterday.

It was everything I’d wanted. The October day was crisp but clear and lovely, the ceremony was classy, heartfelt, and beautiful; and the reception directly afterward at the yacht club was a rocking party. Maybe a little too rockin’, I mused as Zane skirted a pile of suitcases before setting our drinks on the table. He fished his sunglasses from his carry-on then sat back and took a healthy swig of his Bloody Mary. Poor guy was wrecked.

“Do you want some Advil?”

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s been a crazy few days, weeks, months. I need this vacation,” he sighed.

“It’s a honeymoon, not a vacation,” I corrected, stirring the celery in my glass before taking a sip.

Zane grinned mischievously. “True. What kinds of things do you have planned for us?”

“What makes you think I planned anything?”

“I know you. You don’t wing holidays. You plan shit. Let me guess…paragliding, windsurfing, deep sea diving. Am I hot or cold?”

“Cold. How about romantic walks on the beach, snorkeling hand-in-hand in turquoise water, and a lot of sex?”

He scratched his light beard as though contemplating my ideas. “I like it. Especially that last one. And you said skinny dipping, right? I’m all for that, Mr. Richards.”

“Ha. Ha. Did you see the pictures Josh took with my phone last night?” I pushed my cell across the table, nudging his knee as I leaned in to point to a funny one of me smashing a forkful of cake across his cheek.

“That was hilarious,” he huffed sarcastically. “I thought we made a pact not to do stupid wedding things like smear cake in your husband’s hair.”

“My bad.” I chuckled, shuffling through a few more photos of us throughout our day.

Josh replicated some of the shots our professional photographer took of Zane and I holding hands while the minister spoke and another of when she declared us husband and husband. There were dozens more of us with our friends and family. These photos would surely provide hours worth of entertainment over the next week or so, keeping the memory of the greatest day of my life in the forefront of my mind. I paused at a funny picture of Zane flashing a goofy grin at the camera as he spun me around the dance floor.

I smiled and motioned for him to look at the screen only to find him mimicking the silly expression he’d worn in the picture.

“A lifetime of this, eh?” I asked in a sappier tone than I intended.

“Oh yeah,” he smirked, waggling his brow.

I loved that he always seemed to know how to make me smile. Zane was a beautiful man. Inside and out. His aviator glasses and jean jacket added a bad boy element that made my heart skip a beat. And when the sunlight glinted off the platinum band on his left hand, I had to remind myself to breathe. This happened. He was my husband and fuck, that word wasn’t one I’d ever thought could be mine. My nostrils flared as I fought back tears. I’d been riding an emotional roller coaster for a solid year. I hoped ten days in Bora Bora would help ease me back to a neutral state without erasing the incredible high I felt just being near him.

Zane removed his sunglasses and set his left hand over mine. “Hey. You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I have this funny feeling we’re at the starting line. It feels overwhelming and scary but amazing at the same time. Do you feel it too, or am I suffering from stress, sleep deprivation, and an emotional and alcohol-induced hangover?”

Zane squeezed my hand and nodded. “I feel it too, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve got you and I won’t let you go. This is for always.”

I was too choked up to respond, but words were no longer necessary. He knew I felt the same way. And when a voice on the overhead speaker announced our flight was boarding, I had a sudden piercing awareness of the fragility of time. The way it moved too fast and slowed at random intervals. This was one of those slow-motion moments I’d never forget. The bags at our feet, the plane ready to jet us to a faraway destination, and my best friend at my side, reminding me to lean into love. Always.