“I remember.”
“I wanted one hour where nobody needed anything from me.”
I turned toward her.
“And you got it.”
She shook her head.
“No. I got something much better.”
“What?”
She looked up at me.
“I remembered that I was still allowed to want things.”
I squeezed her hand.
“And what do you want now?”
She smiled.
“More bookstore expansions. Better coffee. Less arguing with your ridiculous instructions.”
“Those are ambitious goals.”
“And you.”
I stopped joking.
She stepped closer.
“I want the ordinary days, Alex. The grocery shopping. The terrible jokes. The dinners with Daniel. The arguments about where to go on vacation. The mornings when neither of us wants to get out of bed.”
I smiled.
“That sounds suspiciously like a lifetime commitment.”
“It is.”
I looked at the woman beside me.
The woman who had once sat in my passenger seat trying to hide her tears.
