Page 8 of The Summer Save

I made my way inside and found Jonas in the kitchen shirtless in his Caribou-branded athletic shorts. The counter was covered in appetizers—vegetable tray with ranch, fruit skewers with yogurt, and chips and salsa. “Hi, sweetheart. How was the drive?”

My eyes wandered down my husband’s chest and stomach. It was unfair how he still had an athlete’s body so many years after leaving the ice. I might be angry with him, but that didn’t mean I could completely ignore how sexy it was when he wandered around shirtless. “I’m going to set this bag in a room and then get my suitcases. Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll grab your bags from your car and bring them to you. These are just some snacks so we have something to eat while we talk. I want to tell you what I’ve planned.”

I made my way to the bedroom and froze when I saw two things. First, there was a new bookshelf in the primary bedroom and it was filled with wrapped books. Second, Jonas had unpacked his stuff into the closet, and his stack of books and reading glasses on the nightstand told me he was sleeping in here. We hadn’t slept in the same bedroom in well over a year and a half. And I wasn’t starting now. I turned on my heels to choose a different room, but Jonas blocked the doorway. His right hand pressed against the frame as he leaned his body against the other side, blocking my exit path. “This is the first thing I wanted to discuss. I’m done sleeping across the hall from my wife. On our wedding night, I promised you’d fall asleep in my arms every night we were both in the same town. I was gone half the year because of the road schedule. You traveled with the symphony. Starting tonight, we go back to that first night and make good on that promise.”

I exhaled a huff as I stepped backward toward the corner of the bed. When I settled on the edge, I asked. “Any other promises you’re going to make good on from that night?”

He set my suitcases against the wall, then stalked across the room before dropping to his knees in front of me. His hands massaged my thighs as his forehead pressed against mine. “To not go to bed angry, to talk about anything that’s bothering me, and to always kiss you goodnight.”

Those three, plus holding me in his arms, meant he remembered four of the five promises he’d made. Not bad, but I was so angry with him I couldn’t let him off easily. “Not bad, but you forgot my favorite one.”

His eyes closed, and he exhaled quietly. “I’m trying, Annie. I really am. Cut me some slack, please.”

I leaned back, breaking our contact, and scooted across the bed. “No. I’m not the one who hasn’t shown up. I put in the work. I sat in our therapist’s office weekly and then twice a month waiting for you. Sometimes you showed up, but you were only half in. The other times, I did the work without you. So, no. There’s no slack, Jonas. Saving our marriage is going to take more than some snacks on the kitchen counter, a shelf filled with books, and remembering a handful of wedding night promises. Your room is across the hall. Take PJ’s since he won’t be here this summer. This one’s mine. Just because I want to try to save this marriage, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to share my bed with you.”

He scooted from his knees to sit on the bed’s corner. “Annie, please. Try it my way. I’ve thought this through. Give it a week. If you’re miserable, I’ll move across the hall.”

I shifted to sit against the headboard and stretched my legs out. “Tell me your plan. I can’t agree to something I don’t know anything about.”

He took my foot into his hand and massaged my toes, then worked his way up my foot, avoiding the area that always made me squirm. My body melted to his touch, something I hadn’t had in months. “We’re going to spend the summer reliving favorite memories. I want to take us back to the summer we fell in love and were inseparable, spending every available moment together. I have it all planned. I’m going to show you that I can make us a priority, and each day, we’ll sit on our porch or at the table and have dinner. You can choose one hard topic we need to work through, and we’ll discuss it. No running away from the hard conversation.” He switched the massage to my other foot. “What do you say? Are you in?”

His plan sounded perfect. It was everything I wanted—time together, rebuilding our relationship, and having the conversations we’d avoided. This was the work we were supposed to do in therapy. “Let me make sure I understand. You are going to plan something for us each day, and then at dinner, we can work through anything of my choosing?”

“Yes.”

“I love everything about this except one thing. I can’t start in the same room. This is going to be emotionally exhausting, and we will need space to decompress or take a break. You take PJ’s room. I’ll take Amber’s. We spend at least the first week in those rooms. Once we’re ready to share a room again, we move in here and wait for the other to join us. No pressure or guilt about not being ready at the same time. Do you accept the compromise?”

He folded forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. “It’s a plan. I’ll move my stuff now. You get settled in Amber’s room. Then meet me on the porch. I’d love to spend the first night hearing about Ashland, if that’s okay. We can start the dinner conversations tomorrow.”

The forehead touch, foot massage, and leg squeeze were the most physical touch we had had in months. For someone whose love language was equal parts quality time and physical touch, our lack of connection in terms of both time together and physical space had been torturous. I linked my arms over his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. “Sounds great. Thanks for being here when I arrived. I didn’t think you’d beat me to Seaside. I figured camp would get you first, and you’d squeeze in a few extra days over the holiday before returning to camp.”

His arms tightened around me. “What camp?” As his lips slid down my neck, his words murmured against my skin. “I’m right where I need to be. Where I should have been more.”

When he said things like that, it made it hard to stand my ground that I wasn’t ready to share a room with him. It also gave me hope that we hadn’t completely lost ‘us’ and that it wasn’t too late to get back to what we once had. I knew relationships changed with time and didn’t expect to return to the young adults who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. The ones who would plan time together when their schedules aligned and say they’d do things like sightseeing or go to a movie or play, but would end up never leaving bed. Our newlywed stage had been the same. Even the first few years of our marriage. But then, as our careers changed paths and we added parenthood to our responsibilities, it was different. Not better or worse, just different. But I never expected to go months without my husband’s touch. And now it’s been over a year. The saddest part about that was I didn’t think he realized.

Breaking our embrace was the last thing I wanted to do. I longed to curl onto my side, pull her flush against me, and hold her in my arms for the rest of the night. I might agree with her request to stay in separate rooms, but I would respect it. My thumb stroked against her cheek. “I’ll move your suitcases, then come back to move my stuff. Meet me on the patio for dinner when you’re settled?”

She nodded her silent agreement as she untangled her arms from my neck and then stood. Instead of heading for Amber’s room, she walked to the bookshelf. “Tell me about this.”

“It’s step one of my grand gesture. I went to the bookstore. Sophie mentioned your wish list. I cleared it. Then I went to Seaside Harbor, thinking I’d pick up some wood and make the bookshelf, but they had this in one of those kits you put together.” My chest pressed against her back as my fingers gathered hair and moved it off her shoulder. I convinced myself the gasp was from startling her since her back was to me—she didn’t know I’d moved across the room—and not from the surprise of my touch. It’d been months since we’d done more than a quick peck on the cheek, or me taking her hand as we entered or exited a room. My lips trailed down her neck as one arm wrapped around her waist. The other hand landed on her hip, gently squeezing. “The jar has miniature books, or as close to a book as I could fold. I’m not the crafty one in this relationship. Pull one out, open that number, and your dilemma of what book to read next is solved. I wrapped duets and trilogies together so you can read them together. Sophie told me the rest were standalone.”

Annie leaned into my embrace. “Did you decorate the books too? Or did someone help you?”

“Sophie showed me how to wrap them so they had little pockets. I included bookmarks, stickers, and some other little accessories. She wrapped the first two, then helped me fix my first three attempts. After that, I was on my own. Since I used light brown and pale pink paper, the books seemed a little plain. I picked up some stickers, ribbon, and that fancy sticker tape stuff you like to use when scrapbooking. While I watched a movie, I decorated. You know me, I can’t sit still. I have to be doing something while I watch TV and movies.”

She stepped forward, breaking our contact, reached into the jar, and pulled a folded paper book. “Number 23.” She scanned the shelf, found the book, and held it to her chest. Then she turned to me. A thin layer of mist covered her eyes. “Jonas, this might be the most thoughtful gift you’ve given me in years. Thank you.”

Then she kissed my cheek before practically skipping out of our room into Amber’s. An hour later, she joined me on the patio, where I had our first activity waiting for her. Newspapers covered the patio table, something I learned I needed to do to avoid scrubbing paint off the glass table for hours. “What’s all this?” Annie asked, glancing at the paint markers, brushes, paint collection, and palettes stacked on the center of the table.

“Our first activity,” I remarked from the grill. “The snacks are in the kitchen bar area. I have your favorite wine chilling in the fridge, and I’m just about done with the kabobs. I made a mix of chicken and shrimp. Plus plenty of veggies. I figured we’d eat dinner while you tell me about Ashland. Then we can paint a few rocks. Maybe a couple to add to the décor here. I’d like to make one for the beach too. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

She crossed the patio toward me. Her hand squeezed my upper arm as she pressed a kiss against my shoulder. “This sounds like the perfect plan. What are the plans tomorrow?”

Before responding, I brushed her bangs to the side and tucked them behind her ear. I loved it when she pinned her hair back so I could see her eyes. She joked that it was unfair how I only had hints of gray around my temple and peppered throughout my beard while her gray took over more than half her color, but I loved it. She wasn’t just aging gracefully; she was more complex and bolder, like my favorite wine. I must have stared at her in silence for too long because her finger brushed across the tip of my nose, something she did to get my attention when I was zoning out or focused on a task.

I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. “We’re recreating our first day together. Wear comfortable shoes because we’re walking. I’d like to add breakfast at the café to our day. Then we can pick up a coffee before browsing at the bookshop. I know I cleared your list, but there’s bound to be something else you want. And I’d like to pick up another journal. One for us to take turns writing in. There’s bound to be something that comes up that we need to say to the other, but we can’t put it into words, or it’s difficult to verbalize. I thought we could write it down and pass it back and forth. Or it could even sit on the coffee table where it’s available for both of us whenever we need it.”

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