I brush my hand over the freshly pulled carrots and small clumps of dirt fall back to the garden. Wiping my brow with the back of my free flowing, linen shirt, I look up at the enormous swatch of bright blue sky above.

Summer is beautiful everywhere, but here, at the cottage, every moment is a lesson in the marvels of the season. I close my eyes and lean back on my hand, letting the warm breeze tickle my skin. In the distance, I can hear the water of the lake lapping at the shoreline.

Peaceful doesn’t begin to explain this feeling. Perfection is a little closer. A shadow casts over me and I flutter my eyelids open to see Sawyer smiling down at me. On his line, he has two speckled trout hanging, ready to be turned into the freshest fillets anyone has ever tasted.

“Those will go perfect with the salad,” I tilt my head and hold out my hand to him. Sawyer easily lifts me to my feet and wraps his rough hand around my waist.

“How are you feeling today? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

“I was literally just sitting in the dirt, picking vegetables. I’m not made of glass you know,” I scold him gently. The truth is, I love his concern.

Sawyer’s soft lips kiss a trail down the side of my sensitive neck and I don’t remember what I was saying. I moan and lean back into him, enjoying the pulses of bliss spreading through my skin.

“No, you’re much too sweet to be made of glass. Maybe sugar,” his breath billows over my collarbone as he murmurs to me. His hand protectively rests against my belly and I lean back into his hard body, feeling like there is nothing in this world he couldn’t protect me from.

Protect us from, I remind myself.

“I just don’t want you pushing yourself too hard when you’ve got our little bean sprouting up inside you.” He nips my earlobe and a jolt shoots through me.

“I’m not, don’t worry. I promise I’m taking it easy,” I reassure him for the hundredth time this week.

It was amazing how quickly the change came. One day, Sawyer was teasing me for how little firewood I could chop, or giving me a hard time for how little water I could haul. The day we found out I was pregnant all of that changed. Out with the good-natured ribbing about my not being able to keep up, and in with the pampering. At this rate, I’ll be delivering while he fans me with fern fronds and feeds me wild blueberries one by one.

Not that I mind. There’s something sexy about a man who takes care of his woman. Takes care of his family.

“Let’s get you out of this heat,” Sawyer jerks his head toward the cottage and lifts the basket of food I’ve been gathering, with his free hand.

Cottage doesn’t do our house justice. More like a log chalet perched on a mountainside with the sparkling lake a mere hundred feet away from the front door. I love sitting out on the balcony at night, listening to the crickets and watching the brightest stars I’ve ever seen light up the sky.

When I look out over our property and see the fireflies dancing over the lawn, it’s impossible not to feel the magic of childhood course through your veins. Like dreams can still come true.

Mine did.

Even the childhood dream I once had of having Belle’s library is now a reality I enjoy. Catcher in the Rye might be our favorite book, but it’s far from the only one in our house. Sawyer has a two-story loft wall filled from the floor to the rafters, with books. I asked him why he built it and he said winters are long. Every time he cracked the cover of a book, it was like an instant escape from the desolation and loneliness the icy landscape brought. Some people take trips to Florida to escape the winter blues. We read.

I follow Sawyer into the house and smile, knowing this hot, lazy day turns to a tranquil night and that will blur into another long, summer day, until it’s a new season. Then the weather will be different, but our lives will be the same. Even when our baby decides to enter the world, we’ll still live a simple life where happiness and togetherness mean more than anything else.

“I love you,” I whisper and lean into Sawyer as we walk up the front stairs of the cottage together.

“I love you just a tiny bit more,” he smiles and kisses my hand gently. He loves to say that, no matter how much I protest or pout, he won’t relent that his love is just an iota stronger, just runs centimeters deeper, is just a bit wider than mine.

Today I don’t argue. Instead, I smile. Let him think he loves me more. Let me think I love him more. If that’s our biggest disagreement, then I think we’ve got it pretty good.

Pretty perfect, really. I throw my arm around his waist and snuggle in against his hard shoulder letting the moment marinate in my soul. Enjoying every second, of every day that I have with him on this earth.

And living it to the fullest.

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