One Year Later...

I stand, the bucket filled to the brim with freshly picked flowers, and take a deep breath. It’s early morning, but the sun already fills the sky, in turn filling my lungs with hope.

Walking through the field, I cross over the small bridge at the river. As I near our cabin, I run my fingertips over the lowest branches on the mighty cedar tree, breathing in the fragrant earth and the promise of the day.

Inside, Hawthorne is at the kitchen sink, filling the coffee carafe with water. He’s in low-slung sweats, no shirt, and I lick my lips as I take him in-- every exquisite muscle mine. He turns when he hears me come in. A smile breaks out over my mountain man’s face as I near him, leaning in for a kiss.

“You’re up early,” he says, kissing me again--making coffee can wait when kisses are involved. We are every bit the hopeless newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off one another.

We were married two months ago, in a small ceremony on Mainau Island, in Germany. There are over one hundred acres of flowerbeds. While we were there, we climbed a staircase that showcased a waterfall brimming with tulips. We spent our honeymoon in a seventh-century castle in nearby Meersburg. My research was taking me there anyway, as I continue to document rare wildflowers while I work on completing my book.

Hawthorne thought it was wildly romantic, and I thought it was a dream come true.

But now, we have more dreams to make a reality.

“I have a lot on my mind,” I tell him, setting the bucket of flowers on the counter.

“Oh yeah?” He frowns. “What’s up, Honey?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all good things.”

“You finish another chapter of the book?” he asks.

I smile at his thoughtfulness, but shake my head. “No, it’s much better than that.”

“What?” His face wrinkles as he tries to figure it out.

“Well, there is a lot in bloom,” I say, trying to hint.

He looks at the flowers I gathered. “Yeah, it’s June. Everything is growing.”

I nod, twisting my lips. Then I run my finger over the tattoo on his bicep. It’s a honeysuckle entwined with the lyrics from our song. I wanna come near and give ya every part of me.

“You might need to add some more flowers to this,” I say.

“Why?” He looks down where my fingers are.

“Maybe add the flower for December. I think it’s holly.”

“You want me to add a branch of holly to this?” he laughs, confused. “I don’t get it.”

“You’re right. Maybe holly would look weird next to honeysuckle.” Then I take Hawthorne’s hand and press it to my belly. “But you’ll need some sort of artwork to commemorate this.” I grin, not pulling any punches. “It will blossom around December 20^th.”

He lifts his eyebrows, seeming to understand. “We’re pregnant?”

I nod and he grins, joy written across his face.

“Oh, Honey,” he says, wrapping me in his arms, spinning me around as laughter fills our cabin.

He sets me down, cupping my face with his hand. “Life is a flower for which love is the honey.”

I melt against him, his every word a balm to my broken heart; the sweetness I’d been missing before he came into my life.

I may be his wildflower, but he’s the reason I have grown so strong.