CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Olivia
June 25
AFTER MY WHITE KNIGHT WON THE battle of his career, he won another battle against his fear of leaving me alone. Though he grumbled like a bear the entire time, he got on the plane a few days ago and returned to Altopascio to finish his consultation work before the Words and Images conference starts.
As we did before, we exchange emails several times a day, and as my pregnancy progresses uneventfully, I always assure Dean that everything is fine.
And it is.
Frances Hunter told us that Maggie Hamilton withdrew from the university and left town, apparently without even telling her father. After the news about the affair and the videos spread, Edward Hamilton revoked his support for the King’s law school building and cut all remaining ties to the university. While that means a loss of his donorship, the board of trustees and the faculty are immensely relieved to have avoided a scandal.
The reporter Rita Johnson helped shift public perception with an editorial article about the Wonderland Café, in which she condemned Edward Hamilton for his aggression during an opening day event that was intended for children and families.
Allie and I continue to brainstorm ideas to jumpstart the café’s business, and we’ve planned a bunch of different events for the coming months—puppet shows, free kids’ meals, cooking classes, craft parties, tea parties, costume parties. Florence Wickham’s granddaughter Margery comes into the café one morning, bubbling with excitement.
“I’ve distributed all the information to our district’s PTO presidents and several other parenting organizations,” she tells me and Allie. “Believe me, you get all those mothers on your side, and you’ll be a smashing success in no time. Your timing couldn’t be better either, with summer approaching.”
Our friends give us a huge outpouring of support, bringing in family members, children, and grandchildren. When more people learn about our themed birthday party offerings, Marianne tells me that we’re starting to book parties all the way into September.
And every morning when I walk into the Wonderland Café where my friends are, when I smell the fresh croissants and soufflés, hear the chatter of voices, I know why Dorothy and Alice were so determined to leave Oz and Wonderland and find their way home. Home really is where your heart’s desire lives.
Ten days before Dean is scheduled to return from Altopascio, Kelsey drives me to the airport.
“Sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she asks as she pulls up to the curb.
“No, but thanks.” I reach across the seat to hug her. “I need to do this one alone.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to call when you get in.”
I go into the terminal and check in for my flight. Trying to ignore my nerves, I go through security and board the plane.
The flight is thankfully routine, and I have only a mild case of morning sickness that wanes shortly after the plane lands at the San Jose airport. I email both Kelsey and Dean to let them know I’ve arrived safely, then retrieve my bag and stand in another line to rent a car.
After consulting my map, I get on Highway 280 and follow the signs to Highway 17, which leads over a winding mountain road to Santa Cruz.
I make my way to the Pacific Coast Highway, where the ocean stretches out in a white-capped platter of blue and gray. The cold, salt-scented breeze drifts into the interior of my car. It’s early afternoon, and the fog is fading away under the warmth of the sun.
By the time I find Twelve Oaks again, I’m filled with more emotions than I can untangle—nervousness, excitement, fear. I park at the gate and walk down the stretch of dirt road. A young man approaches me.
“I used to live here,” I explain after introducing myself. “I’m looking for North.”
“He’s working over at the farmer’s market,” the guy says. “You want to wait?”
My heart skips a beat. I hadn’t even known if North was still here.
“No, thanks. I’ll find him.”
I go back to downtown Santa Cruz and find a parking space not far from Pacific Avenue. Pedestrians stroll along the sidewalk. The farmer’s market is a sea of people and white tents, voices rising into the air, the sound of a steel band carried on the breeze.
I maneuver through the crowd, looking at the vendor signs. When I find the Twelve Oaks tent, I stop a distance away. My heart is pounding.
North is busy talking to a customer, pointing at a box of heirloom tomatoes. He looks almost the same—more gray in his hair and beard, a little heavier, but I swear he’s wearing the same jeans and T-shirt from ten years ago. And he still has a braid in his beard, tied with a little red ribbon.
I wait for the cluster of people to disperse before approaching the tent.
“Free samples of strawberries,” North says, gesturing to the bowls on the counter.
“Hi, North.”
He looks at me and blinks. For a second, I’m afraid he doesn’t remember me. Then that old, familiar grin breaks out through his beard.
“Get over here, Liv,” he says.
I go around the counter to hug him, tears stinging my eyes as his arms tighten around me in an embrace of pure warmth and affection. When we part, he holds my shoulders and looks at me, shaking his head.
“I’ll be damned. I thought I told you not to come back.”
“You did. But I’ve learned that sometimes it’s okay not to listen to people.”
He chuckles. “True enough. Hold on.”
He gestures to a couple of guys who are unpacking boxes from the truck and tells them to take care of things for a while. We get two iced coffees and find a place to sit away from the crowd.
“I’ve thought about you a lot,” I tell him. “Wanted to email or write, but I remembered what you said.”
“Yeah. I was glad that you moved on.” North tugs at the braid in his beard. “So tell me now.”
I tell him everything I did after I left Twelve Oaks ten years ago. Community college, working retail, transferring to the University of Wisconsin. Library sciences, literature, Jitter Beans, Mirror Lake, the Historical Museum. The Wonderland Café.
“When I was at the University of Wisconsin, I met a man who teaches medieval history,” I say. “He’s my husband now.”
“He’s a good guy?”
“The best.” My throat tightens with emotion. “He really knows how to love me.”
“Good.”
“How’s everything here?”
North tells me about the seed business, the changes in the commune, the people who have come and gone, their new expansion into making furniture and hammocks.
By the time we’re finished talking, the sun has started its descent and several of the farmer’s market vendors are packing up their stuff.
“You want to stay?” North asks.
Part of me does. I’d love to spend a few nights back at Twelve Oaks, enjoying the salty air, wandering the gardens, joining the group for dinner and the nightly campfire.
But I shake my head. “I booked a hotel room a few blocks from the beach.”
“What are you in town for?”
“To see you.”
“You came back just to see me?”
“You did so much for me, North. More than I can even explain.”
He shakes his head, looking away for an instant before gruffly patting my shoulder. “I didn’t do anything, Liv. You did.”
“I just wanted to tell you that everything turned out…” My throat closes over. “Everything turned out better than I could have imagined.”
“I’m really glad to know that.”
We throw our cups into the recycling bin and walk back to the Twelve Oaks tent. I help pack up the remaining vegetables, handmade soaps and lotions, while North and the other guys dismantle the tent.
When the truck is loaded up, I approach North and dig into my pocket. I pull out the necklace he gave me.
“Remember this?”
He takes it in his hand and nods. “Long time ago.”
“It helped me a lot. The reminder. It took me a long time to learn it was true, though.”
“At least you learned,” he says, putting the necklace back in my palm. “Some people never do. Always knew you were a good student.”
He pulls open the door of the truck and gestures to the passenger seat. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Thank you, North. For everything.”
“Great to see you again, Liv. You know where to find me.”
“Always.”
I take a step back and lift a hand in farewell. My heart fills with gratitude for this gruff, honest man who pointed me toward a road that led directly to now.
“When are you heading back?” North asks.
“Friday.”
“So soon, huh?”
“Yes.” I smile at him. “I have a life to live.”
A week after my brief trip to California, I drive to the airport again. This time, it’s to meet my husband on his return from Italy. Dean had emailed me that he would take a taxi from the airport, but no way am I waiting an extra two hours to see him come home.
For good.
Not “for better” or “for worse.”
For good.
Dean’s flight is scheduled to get in at six in the evening, and I arrive at the airport an hour early. I find an empty bench at the gate exit and sit down. By the time the plane lands, I’m jittery with excitement.
After what seems like an interminable wait, tired-looking passengers clutching bags and carry-ons begin to disembark. I stand up, searching the crowd. A few minutes later, a tingle ripples over my skin.
He walks past the open doors, my beautiful, dark-haired husband who would stand out in a crowd of Greek gods. He looks incredible in faded jeans and a rugby shirt, his face dusted with rough stubble. His hair is a little longer, curling over his ears, and I’m struck with a visceral memory of seeing him for the first time and experiencing that intense, hot pull of attraction.
I feel that rush again, uncoiling in my blood, but this time—more powerfully—my heart surges with joy and love. Dean doesn’t see me as he starts down the stairs, but when he reaches the bottom, he looks up.
His glance passes right over me. He starts to turn toward the baggage claim area.
Then he stops. He turns back, his gaze colliding with mine.
For the first time, I don’t run and leap into his arms, although the urge to do so is almost overwhelming. Instead I smile and approach him, holding out my hands.
“Welcome back, love of my life.”
He stares at me, stunned, his hands closing warm and strong around mine.
“Liv.”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you home.”
He’s still staring at me. He clears his throat. “You… uh, you cut your hair.”
“I did.” I turn to show him the back of my short, sleek haircut, which falls just below my ears in gentle waves. “Well, Kelsey’s stylist cut it for me. Do you like it?”
“Very Betty Rubble.”
I grin and turn back to face him. He still looks faintly dumbfounded. It’s kind of cute.
“It’ll grow back, professor.” I pat his chest. “I promise.”
“You’re beautiful.” Dean finally breaks out of his stupor and untangles one of his hands from mine. He reaches out to curl a lock of my hair around his forefinger, giving it a gentle tug. “As long as I can still do this, I like it.”
He moves to grasp my waist and guide me away from the few remaining passengers. We edge behind an advertising display sign before Dean lowers his head to mine. He tucks his hands into my hair, angling my head in the exact right way, and captures my lips with his.
It’s a lovely kiss that fills me with pleasure. I spread my hands over his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt, the closeness of him sending shivers clear down to my toes. Our lips fit together seamlessly, that familiar sense of belonging wrapping around us both.
Dean lifts his head, his eyes tender as he spreads his hand gently across my belly.
“How are you?” he asks.
I wind my arms around his neck and rub my cheek against his. “Never better.”
After another few stolen kisses, we hurry to get Dean’s suitcase from baggage claim and drive home, both of us eager to return to the island of us again.
We spent the next few days settling back into our routine and catching up with each other. One afternoon several days after his return, Dean comes out of his office looking rather stunned.
“I just talked to Frances Hunter,” he tells me. “She said she recommended to the board of trustees that I get fast-tracked for tenure.”
“Oh, Dean.” Happiness and pride flood me. “That’s wonderful.”
“She also said the chancellor got a call from a man who’s interested in donating to the new law school building at King’s.”
“Not… not Edward Hamilton.”
“No.” Dean shakes his head. “Justice Richard West from California. Frances wanted to know if I’m related to him.”
It’s enough to make us both realize that maybe some family bonds really are unbreakable.
And so things settle into place. For the next few weeks, Dean delivers lectures, organizes Jessica Burke’s PhD defense, guides his students’ research, and is as confident and in control as… well, all those powerful kings of legend. He contacts the real-estate agent Nancy about houses on the market and keeps an eye out for potential properties.
And because my husband is a scholar extraordinaire, he researches every last detail and makes plans for our upcoming parenthood. As he starts lists of everything we’ll need for the baby, his vocabulary becomes an amusing mixture of medieval and baby-related terms: Cistercian, onesie, crenellation, binky, scriptorium, exersaucer.
The Words and Images conference is a resounding success, leading to a slate of new offers from universities and institutions trying to lure Dean away from King’s. We meet his ex-wife Helen for dinner one night, a nice evening that gives Dean a final sense of closure.
Summer arrives with wild, happy fervor. Sailboats float on Mirror Lake like lily pads, and both tourists and locals crowd the coffeehouses and cafés, including Wonderland. My blissfully normal pregnancy progresses without incident. By the time I ease into my second trimester, my libido kicks back into force, and Dean and I return to the pleasure of our lusty sex life.
And I just love the way my husband loves me. His kisses are like whipped cream melting into hot apple pie, like ripe, red cherries, and dark chocolate swirled with peppermint. I never dreamed that my response to Dean could be even more intense, but one brush of his mouth is enough to flood me with immediate desire. We seek each other out almost every night, both to satisfy our erotic cravings and to immerse ourselves in intimacy.
One evening I find him stretched out on the bed wearing only his boxers and his reading glasses, his forehead furrowed in concentration as he grades papers for his summer lecture course. Just the sight of my handsome professor lights a fire inside me. After a moment of admiring his rumpled hair and muscular chest, I climb onto the bed beside him. He pushes the papers aside and reaches for me with a smile, lust already brewing in his eyes.
The moment Dean’s lips touch mine, a warm, scrumptious feeling blooms inside me. He takes my face in his hands, deepening the kiss, tracing the line of my lips. I press my thighs together to ease the ache cascading through my lower body. I open my mouth and surrender to the sweep of his tongue. A moan catches in my throat as I spread my hands over the muscles of his chest.
Though Dean is especially gentle with me these days, his hunger for me burns hotter than ever. He unfastens the buttons of my shirt and pushes it off my shoulders, his eyes filling with both heat and tenderness. My heartbeat quickens as I shrug out of my bra and toss it aside, already desperate for his touch.
I’m rounder everywhere, my waist flaring to wide hips, my belly a distinct swell, my breasts full and sensitive. Dean fondles my new curves with a growl of pure pleasure before pulling me against him.
Our mouths lock together again, hot and deep. We tumble into the pillows, and I wrap my arms around him, kissing his neck, feeling his hands sliding smoothly across my body. We shed our remaining clothes, and Dean moves between my legs, pushing his cock into me slowly, his hands on my spread knees. We fall into the rhythm together, the rhythm of us, all damp skin, flexing muscles, gripping hands.
When bliss crashes over me, I clutch the bedcovers as Dean presses his fingers against my clit, his deep voice murmuring husky words of pleasure. My body is still vibrating when he moves his hands to my hips and plunges inside me with his own powerful release.
With a groan, he rolls to the side and pulls me closer, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair at my temple. I tuck myself against him, absorbing the slow ebbing of sensations.
As my mind clears from the fog of desire, I become aware of a nagging worry that took root during my many hours of researching before-and-after pregnancy issues. I push up to one elbow and look at Dean, who is lying there with his eyes closed, all sweaty, disheveled, and content.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Hey, Liv.”
“Are you worried about having a baby?”
He opens his eyes. “You mean the labor and delivery?”
“No, I mean…” I twist a corner of the sheet. “Well, last fall you said you didn’t want anything to change between us. But of course with a baby, it will. And, you know, things will change sexually…”
Dean shifts to face me. To my surprise, a smile tugs at his mouth.
“Liv, you turn me on like no woman ever has,” he says. “You always will. And sure things are going to change, but we’ll work it out. Haven’t we always worked it out before?”
Have we ever.
“Okay. I was just… you know. Wondering.”
He’s still looking at me. “You don’t think I’m going to pressure you into anything before you’re ready, do you?”
“No, of course not. But what if it’s weeks and weeks?”
“Then we’ll wait weeks and weeks.” He shrugs. “Liv, I love having sex with you but I’m not a complete jackass.”
“You’re not?”
He reaches up to tweak my nose. “This is how it’s going to go down, Mrs. West. After the kid is born, we’re going to wait as long as necessary to have sex again. Months, if we have to. Until we’re both ready. Then we’re going to figure things out day by day. If something’s bugging you, you’re going to tell me. We’re hiring a babysitter at least twice a month so I can take you out. We’re getting a lock on our bedroom door so the kid can’t walk in on us when we’re doing it.
“There will be lots of kissing,” he continues. “I will stare lustfully at you when you walk past me and often try to cop a feel. This in no way will obligate you to have sex with me, but if you want to I’ll rock your world. And when the kid goes to college, all bets are off and you and I are going to get naked and dirty in every room of the house. In the middle of the day.”
Since I’m speechless, I just sink against him, soft and melting. He folds himself around me in his enveloping, protective way, wrapping us both in the knowledge of all that we are to each other now and all that we will ever be.
“See you tomorrow, Liv.”
Allie and I wave at each other as we leave the Wonderland Café one Sunday evening in July. The sun has started its slow descent, and Avalon Street is crowded with people sitting at the sidewalk cafés, wandering along the lake paths, and window shopping. I walk home, enjoying the warm air and the breeze drifting in from the lake.
I go up the stairs to our apartment, pausing at the sight of a note taped to the door.
Warmth fills me. Though I know Dean isn’t luring me to the Butterfly House for a sexy encounter—he’s too mindful of my pregnancy these days to pursue me anywhere except in the bedroom—I hurry inside to shower and change. Whatever my husband has planned, I’m not showing up all grubby after a day’s work.
As I drive toward Monarch Lane, I wonder if Dean has the same idea I’ve been thinking about for the past couple of weeks. I pull into the driveway and get out of the car, my breath catching at the sight of the huge, ramshackle house. Though it’s still mostly boarded up and overgrown with weeds, right now it looks like a dream.
Tiny white lights shine like fireflies from several trees around the house. Lush, potted plants and flowers bloom along the walkway leading to the front porch, which is draped in a waterfall of twinkling lights. With the sunset casting a reddish glow over the sky, and the lake and town spread beneath the mountains… it’s a picture right out of a much beloved, classic fairy tale.
Except this fairy tale belongs only to us.
A tingle rains down my spine at the sight of a certain handsome prince standing on the front porch. My heart rate intensifies as Dean approaches me, a smile curving his mouth. Dressed in charcoal-colored trousers, a navy shirt, and a blue-and-gray striped tie, he radiates that distinct air of sexy, brilliant professor that quickens my blood.
He stops in front of me, his eyes warm. A tangible crackle of awareness fills the space between us.
“Hi,” I breathe, my whole being flooded with both pleasure and astonishment. “This is beautiful.”
“So are you.” Dean brushes a kiss across my lips before extending his arm to me.
I slip my hand into the crook of his arm as we walk along the broken flagstones to the porch.
“You fixed the steps,” I remark, pausing to look at the repairs he’s completed. “And the balustrade. It looks wonderful.”
“It’s just a temporary fix,” Dean says. “They’ll have to be replaced eventually.”
I let my gaze follow the roof of the porch to the tower where Dean once took pictures of me before things got downright hot. A little shiver runs through me at the memory.
“What did you ever do with those pictures?” I ask.
“I printed out the ones of you fully clothed,” he says. “I have a couple of them in my wallet and one in my office. I deleted the others.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t need prints of them.” He pulls me closer, his eyes darkening with heat as he taps his temple with his forefinger. “I’ve got every one of those pictures locked up here where only I can see them.”
A wave of pleasure surges beneath my heart as I lean toward my husband like a flower stem bending to the wind.
“I think we have the same idea about this house,” I whisper.
“What idea is that?” He slides his hands around to the small of my back.
“The one about buying it.”
“Buying it?”
I ease back to look at him, realizing suddenly that he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“Isn’t that why you asked me to meet you here?” I ask. “Didn’t you talk to Florence Wickham?”
“I haven’t talked to Florence since last week.” A faint confusion furrows his brow. “Why?”
“She told me that developers are starting to ask about the property again,” I explain. “Once they found out the Historical Society couldn’t raise the funds to save it, they realized they could swoop right in. Of course they’d just raze the house and make it a commercial site.”
“That would be a damn shame.”
“That’s why I was wondering…” I take a breath and rest my hand on the swell of my belly. “What do you think of us buying the house?”
“Us?” Dean repeats. “You and me?”
I smile. “Last I heard, us is definitely you and me.”
“Why do you want us to buy it?”
“I thought we could renovate it and eventually live here.” I look up at the house again, all the lights twinkling around it. “The location is amazing, and with the right care and attention, the house could be beautiful again. I know it’ll take a ton of work and money, but saving and restoring an old house… it feels like something we should do.”
And I know to the center of my heart that Dean and I were meant to bring this place back to its original glory.
“You’re the perfect person to make sure the details are all historically accurate, and to preserve the integrity of the original building,” I continue. “And I’d love to find out about the furniture and decorating. We could stay in the apartment with the baby for the next year or so until we get it all done.”
Dean is still quiet, his gaze traveling over the front of the house. I can almost see the thoughts and assessments shifting through his mind.
“We’d just have to make a plan,” I tell him. “Preferably a Professor Dean West plan.”
Dean turns to smile at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and my heart gives a leap of pure happiness.
“It’s a great idea, Liv,” he says. “I’d love to restore this house and live here with you.”
“I’d love it too.” I twine my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe to kiss him. “When I saw your note, I thought you had the exact same idea.”
“I do now.” He rubs his nose against mine. “But I actually asked you here for another reason. Do you remember what day it is?”
“July… oh my God.” I press my hands to my cheeks, shock diluting my pleasure. “I did not forget our anniversary.”
“I think you did.”
“Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He gently tugs a lock of my hair. “We’ve had a lot going on, and I was kind of hoping you’d forget anyway. I wanted to surprise you.”
He takes my arm and guides me up the steps to the porch where white lights fall around us like a curtain of stars. The sun is a halo of reddish-gold behind the mountains, and the town lights shine through the dusk.
Dean tightens his hand on mine, his dark eyes fixing on me with that singular intensity that shuts the rest of the world out. My heart flutters with anticipation.
“Liv, I think…” Dean pauses and clears his throat. “I think you know everything there is to know. You know that I fell hard for you the first time I saw you. You know that nothing on earth could have kept me from following you that day, and that I had to struggle not to touch you when we stood there on the sidewalk. You know you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. That you always will be. You know I went to Jitter Beans every morning in the hopes of seeing you again.
“You know I looked up the university rules before I asked you out, and that I spent hours coming up with the idea of seducing you with library call numbers. You know you’re the sweetest, sexiest woman in history.”
My entire body warms with love, and I smile through the tears blurring my eyes.
“You know I’ll always fight for you,” Dean continues. “That I’ll always protect you and always want to give you everything. You know you’re the one who showed me the meaning of bravery. You know you make my heart pound every time I see you, and that you drive me crazy with your insistence that I put the cereal boxes back in alphabetical order.”
I laugh, thinking it’s to his credit that he actually makes an effort to do that.
“And,” Dean says, his deep voice washing over me like the sun, “you know you’ll always be my beauty.”
I fumble for a tissue from my purse to swipe my eyes. I do know all that. I’ve known since the day we met, like a tiny seed was planted right in the center of my heart and has blossomed over the years into a thousand flowers.
“But there are a few things you don’t know.” Dean reaches up with his other hand to brush a tear off my cheek. “You don’t know that I never dared to believe a woman like you existed in the world, much less that you’d ever love me or let me love you. You don’t know that you fulfilled a million secret wishes I didn’t even realize I had.
“You don’t know that I started believing in impossible things after I met you. Maybe a person could slide down a rainbow or taste the clouds or count to infinity. Why not, if there was Liv in the world? The stars shone brighter, the colors of the world became more vivid, everything was clearer, happier, better. All because of you.”
“You’d better stop, professor.” I scrub my eyes again and disentangle my hand from his so I can press my palm against his chest. “I’m a pregnant woman who is about to end up on the floor from sheer excess of emotion.”
Dean smiles and then, to my surprise, he goes down on one knee in front of me. I wipe away my tears again.
“Olivia West,” Dean says. “My best friend, my wife, my girl, my key to everything good, my beauty. Will you marry me?”
“Will I…” I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “You… you’re proposing to me?”
“I’m proposing to you.”
“This is why you asked me to meet you here?”
“This is why.”
“But—”
“I never asked you to marry me,” Dean says.
I blink. “What?”
“When we were at that antique shop.” Dean rises to his feet and settles his hands on my shoulders. “I bought you the cameo ring, but I never asked you to marry me.”
“You didn’t?”
He shakes his head.
I think back to that day when I’d stood at the counter as Dean pulled out his wallet and said he hadn’t bought me an engagement ring yet. I remember being a little confused by his disbelief when I’d said I would love to be his wife, but I’d been so flooded with exhilaration and love that I hadn’t even noticed he didn’t actually ask the question.
“Well,” I finally say, “it’s a good thing I read between the lines then, isn’t it?”
“A very good thing,” Dean agrees, amusement lighting his eyes. “But you deserve a real proposal, so I’m asking you now. Will you marry me?”
“Oh!” I realize I haven’t even responded yet. I clutch Dean’s hands as an immense happiness and excitement course through me. “Of course, love of my life. I’ll marry you over and over again, until the end of time. Yes. Yes.”
A smile breaks over Dean’s face as he hauls me against him in one of those enveloping, tight hugs that secures the world beneath us and presses our heartbeats together.
“Give me a kiss, beauty,” he murmurs.
He cups the back of my head as I reach up to press my lips against his. My soul sprouts wings that lift me through the air, twirling and spinning.
When we ease away from each other, Dean reaches into his pocket. I wipe the lingering tears from my cheeks as he extends a small box. Inside is a silver band engraved with two keys and the words Liv and Dean.
Dean takes the ring from me and slips it onto my finger alongside my wedding band. I look from the ring to him, overwhelmed by the immensity of the love between us and its power to banish our fear.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I say. “That we found each other and flew in love. How strong we are together, how much more we’ve become because we know how to love each other. How so much has changed…”
Dean is looking at me as if I’m the answer to all the questions in the world.
“Some things will never change, Liv,” he says. “We’ll always fall asleep and wake up together. I’ll always make you coffee in the morning and tease you about your bathrobe. We’ll always love each other to distraction, argue, hold hands, and kiss an awful lot. And I promise you that no matter what, we’ll always have us.”
I smile at him. I know this to the center of my soul. Like milk and cookies, pencil and paper, the moon and stars, please and thank you, movies and popcorn… Dean and I belong together.
We lift our left hands at the same time and place our palms together. Our wedding bands click softly as we entwine our fingers.
“You and me, professor.”
“You and me, beauty.”
He gathers me into his arms, strong as steel and warm as sunlight. I press my face against his chest, filled with a lovely sensation of coming home to the man whose heart I will keep forever safe. The man who understands all my strengths and flaws, who warms me from the inside out, who knows how to silence the noise of the world so all we can hear is us.
My husband and I will always be two people living one life of perfect imperfection. We’ll always live here, in the place of Liv and Dean, where problems are solved and locks are opened. A place of infinite love, persistence, tenderness, passion, acceptance, and forgiveness. A place where wishes are granted, dreams come true, and stories have happy endings—not because of fate or magic, but because we love each other so hard and so well.