“Babe. Where on earth are you taking me?”

“Knowing me it could be anywhere, huh?”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

I sat back in the convertible Opel and let my wife drive.

For the past year, we’d been inseparable. She’d taught in Granada. I attended school, just not in her class.

We escaped a lot of weekends to wherever she wanted to go. Morocco. Greece. Sweden. Turkey.

I’d moved into her tiny apartment.

When we’d gone home to visit, we’d stopped by to see friends in Vegas. With a glint in her eye, by the Bellagio fountains, Dani said, “Wanna get hitched?”

“What?” My heart had started beating like it was gonna dance in the Electric Daisy Carnival.

“Will you marry me?” she said.

I’d stared at her, stunned. “I thought you weren’t into a wedding.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Well, damn, then I wanted to propose.” I pulled her into me.

She giggled. “Then propose.”

In the middle of the Las Vegas Strip, with hundreds of tourists around me, I got down on one knee. “Danika Anderson, you’re the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely, yes,” she said.

We got married that day.

The red tierra of Spain spread before us, dotted with olive trees, like a quilt across the landscape. A bumpy quilt. A bed like Degan would have made when we first got to boot, all messed up and bumpy. I smiled to myself. He would have been chewed out.

We exited the autopista, and I caught a glimpse of storks’ nests in the telephone poles. What huge birds they were. No wonder people thought they’d deliver babies. They could probably deliver a Chinook helicopter.

Almost every week for the past year, I’d had a therapy session with Marie Thrash. While I still had nightmares, they’d decreased in frequency and intensity. I started taking meds, got the levels adjusted, and felt better. Not perfect. But better.

Dani made me feel better, too. Her love. Her forgiveness. Her power.

As we wound our way down the narrow road, I repeated, “Babe. Where are you taking me?”

Dani’s dandelion floss hair blew in the breeze, and she looked over at me, her blue eyes covered with dark glasses. She patted my knee. “Just you wait, Trent Milner.”

We sped along at Dani’s usual breakneck pace, until we came to a sudden halt because of a pack of sheep crossing the road. “Baaaa,” they bleated.

“Baaa,” we bleated back.

The old sheepherder waved at us. Once the path was clear, she gunned it.

“Jesus, Dani.”

She smiled. “I can’t wait to show you.”

Up ahead of us, on a hill, was an old stone building, as is common in Spain. This one looked habitable.

I pointed. “We’re going there?”

Shrugging, she just kept going, refusing to say.

But yes, we headed up the hill to a rusty old gate tangled with red poppies and wildflowers. Olive trees dotted the entire area everywhere you looked. To the south, the Med sparkled in the distance.

Unearthing a huge, old-fashioned key out of her bag, she got out of the car and opened the gate, then drove through, got out, and closed the gate behind us.

Motoring much more sedately, she said, “Have a look around, my darling, dearest Trent. This is our new base.”

“New base?”

“Yep. I bought you a base.”

“Meaning a home?”

“Meaning a home.”

I took it all in.

“You’d be amazed what a 1960’s tract home goes for in Northern California. And how much you can buy in Spain if you’re willing to work with the process.”

“You bought a home?”

“I did. We can keep our things and travel the world from here, together. It’s remote enough that I won’t worry about anyone breaking into it. And,” she singsonged in typical Dani fashion, “if they really needed a place to stay, of course we’d let travelers have a place to stop. It’s on a hilltop, so you won’t have to worry about defending it. You can see from all sides.” I looked at her gratefully. She knew my fucked up mind so well. “And then whenever we feel like it, we can just take up and go.”

I leaned over and kissed her. “Can I see the house?”

“Sure. It isn’t much. It’s kind of small. But it is a castle in Spain, technically.”

The warmth in my heart spread to my fingertips and toes. “Dani. You’re incredible.”

She pulled up at the stone house. An old terracotta roof topped walls of golden stone. It seemed to have doors and a window.

So far, so good.

“This is your new home. A ruin of a castle on a hill in Spain, fortified with a new roof, plumbing, electricity, heating and air conditioning.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“Let’s go inside,” she whispered.

I stepped in, and immediately, I was home.

“It’s wired for internet,” she said.

But that wasn’t what I cared about.

She’d decorated. A hippie lover’s dream. Tapestries hung on the walls, with candles in sconces. A big purple couch, covered with pillows, faced a large television. Out the other way, we had a view across the countryside to the ocean. A cozy fireplace held pictures of me and her, me and Degan, and both of our parents.

His flag was given a place of honor over our mantel.

I walked around. A small kitchen, clean and white-tiled. A tiny bathroom with a metal bathtub. And a bedroom with a big bed that was all ours. Mountains of white sheets and pillows, covered with a bedspread from Bali.

I backed her into the bed.

“This is incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it.”

“You are mine now, Danika Milner.”

“Always and forever, my husband.”

“I’m going to worship you here. Explore your body like it was the map of a fairytale kingdom.”

She giggled. “Sounds good to me.”

“Your eyes are those of a fairy princess. They’ve seen the world and determined that it is good. And they have decided to stay in your own world. Your hair is like spun sugar. Magical. These tattoos? They tell a story. You make me wild, wood sprite. The way you see the world. The way you go about wanting to make it all better. Make people understand each other.”

Reaching up and cupping my cheeks, she kissed me.

After we made love, I got up and turned on some music on my phone.

Sevillanas.

I stood, wearing nothing, holding out my hand. “Dance with me, Dani.”

She hopped over to me, naked in the sun.

“First you pick the apple,” I whispered. “Then you eat the apple. Then you throw the apple away.”

Holding my wife, dancing in Spain, I kissed her.

“Welcome home, soldier,” she said. “This is our base. And now we both can fly.”

I’d never felt more comfortable, more secure, and more loved. “I think we should put a sign over the door.”

“That says?”

“Sol. We bought our ticket in the sun.”