Lenand I walk hand in hand away from the main lobby of Serenity Ranch and Spa. The sun lingers in the sky longer now than it did when we were here before, clinging to the horizon. Next to me, my little writer is a million miles away, worrying over her lip. A sure sign she wants to break out the laptop when we get back to our spot.
We walk past the other sites, RVs parked with people eating late dinners or staring out over the lake. I was able to reserve us the same site as last time, so once she walks up to the perch above the stone building, she’ll have the most beautiful sunset to write whatever her beautiful mind is conjuring.
Squeezing her hand, I tell her, “I’ll bring up some popcorn.”
Slowly, she gives me one of her heart-melting smiles. “You’re the best.”
I take her words to heart, letting them fill me. Giving myself a pat on the back sounds cliché and dumb, but it’s more than that. Making her smile, making her feel loved, is one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.
The path in front of us curves and twists, like the contents of my stomach. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to pull this moment off. I thought I wanted her at my game, in my jersey, screaming my name, but it was the moments between the highlights that stuck out the most. The little things that grew bigger and bigger with time.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, the lake insects singing us their songs. Every once in a while, it’s punctuated by the deep bellow of a toad or the swoop of a bird’s wings as it glides to a stop on the surface of the lake.
When we return to the site, Lenore immediately moves into the RV to grab her laptop while I head to the outdoor kitchen. I take out the little popcorn packets I stored in there earlier and ready my cell phone to play.
I can’t keep a smile off my face when her footsteps sound behind me. Spinning on my heels, I’m greeted with another grin. She reaches up on her toes to kiss my cheek, and when she turns, I discreetly push play on the audio file.
“And now, your starting player. The formidable, the creative, the incredible…” The announcer from the rink draws the word out for more than a few seconds. Lenore stops, her foot already on the first step of the stairs, and she turns to peer over her shoulder as the announcer says: “The most talented writer in the world, Lenore Robertson.” He finishes her name with the same flourish he uses when he announces the starting lineup at my games.
Her gaze morphs from confusion to excitement to bliss, and I’m brought back to when she did this for me, using her own voice in the hallway of our suite. Such an insignificant moment to some, but to me, it meant everything. In that one exchange, she told me she was proud of me, she told me she was thinking of me, and she told me that she thought what I did mattered.
She saunters toward me. “You got RC to say that?”
I nod, pausing the audio file. In the time I look away, she’s already on me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “Do you really think I’m the most talented writer in the world?”
“Who else would it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s about a few hundred thousand writers in the world.”
“I like your chances.”
“You’re biased,” she says, moving impossibly closer.
“So?”
She peers at my lips before moving forward. A bubble encapsulates us as I work my mouth over hers, savoring the caress, the feel, the emotion. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a promise.
Too early, she pulls away, but she’s still smiling. “Do you want to know why I was a hundred miles away?”
“Because you have a story idea in your head, and if you don’t write it down, you’ll forget, and no matter what you come up with next, you’ll think it’s not as good as the idea that slipped through your fingers.”
“Poetic.”
“I’ve been living with you for months. It’s bound to rub off.”
She shuffles her feet. “Actually, I caught a glimpse of a notification I received when we were in the lobby, and I wanted to look at it to see if it was something worth telling you about.”
I give her a look. “Okay…”
“Let me ask you a question. When was the last time you checked the views on the YouTube video?”
I side-eye her. “In forever.” If it happens, it happens. I don’t need to agitate myself to death over it, choosing instead to focus on the things I can control.
“You should check it,” she says, shrugging like it’s no big deal.
My brain worries I might obsess again. Falling into old patterns might be easy, I don’t know. But when Len gives me a nod, I know I should.
Pulling out my phone, I connect to the Wi-Fi. I don’t even have the video open in my tabs anymore, so I have to go searching for it. My brain conjures up a few possible numbers since she must be telling me this because people have viewed it, right? She wouldn’t have me open the video to a big, fat goose egg.