“That was months ago, babe,” I point out.
“I know, but they’ve grown so much since then. We’ll have to have them over again once we’re all back home and things have settled down.”
Home. Just before we left for our trip, I brought up the idea to Megan of her moving into my place. Of making my house a home for the two of us. She was apprehensive, at first, but then realized that she’s basically at my house all the time anyways, so what’s the point of her continuing to pay rent on her apartment when I already own my house. I still haven’t brought up the idea to her that I sell my house and build one that is fully handicap accessible, I have to tackle one thing at a time with her. The next will be convincing her to say yes when I propose to her in a few days, when we head to Paris before returning home. I had a nice conversation with her parents one afternoon over FaceTime that she has no idea even took place. I needed to know that her parents approved of us and would give me permission to marry their daughter. That she’s the most important person in my life and that I’d move heaven and earth for her. She also doesn’t know that I’m flying them out to visit us a few weeks after we fly back home. Figured they could come to town and meet my family, and we can hopefully plan an engagement party for their visit.
“What’s got you thinking so seriously?” she asks, nudging me in the ribs with her elbow.
“Oh nothing, just spacing out. Time zones just catching up to me and all.”
“Mhmm,” she hums. “Okay, as long as nothing is wrong,” she questions, flashing me a small private smile.
“I promise, nothing is wrong,” I tell her, cupping her face and kissing her lightly.
“Okay,” she says, accepting my answer. The only thing I’m worried about right now is her not accepting my proposal. I know that isn’t rational. We’ve—I’ve—gotten past all my reservations about being enough for her, and I’ve worked through my issues of sometimes having to put work first.
We more than enjoy ourselves at Simon and Bridget’s wedding. Dancing as well as one can dance when your partner is wheelchair dependent.
“Do you remember the night I got back from Rwanda and I asked you if you trusted me?”
“Of course, why?”
“Because I want you to trust me again tonight,” I say quietly, just loud enough that she can hear me as I lean into her personal space. Most of our table mates are out mingling around the reception, or out on the dance floor.
“Okay,” she says, confidant in her ability to trust me, knowing that I’d never do anything to hurt her.
I hit the button on her chair to back her away from the table enough so that I can scoop her up into my arms. “What are we doing?” she asks, a little skeptical.
“We’re going to dance, you in my arms, where you belong,” I tell her, kissing her once again. I walk us out onto the dance floor, Megan securely in my arms, bridal style, like I’ve carried her many times. While it isn’t a traditional way one might dance, it is the most secure way to do so. I spin us around the dance floor, our bodies pressed together, and listen to Megan’s laughter as we do so. I can only imagine what it must be like for her to experience something like this without being confined to her chair. I know she doesn’t ever feel like her chair is a hindrance, quite the opposite, in fact. She once told me that her chair gives her freedom, it doesn’t take it away.
“What are you thinking?” I ask when the music quiets, as the band transitions between songs.
“That was so much fun! Thank you,” she says, tugging my head forward until her lips land on mine. I stand still in the middle of the dance floor, soaking in her kiss as everyone around us starts to sway to the slow song the band starts up.
“Bloody hell, get a room, mate,” Simon says as he stops next to us.
“Like you can talk,” I bark back at him. He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off his wife all day, granted, it is his wedding day and that is to be expected.
“Today has been incredible,” Megan says to Simon and Bridget.
“Thank you! It was everything I could have wanted and more,” Bridget tells her.
“Your girls were just precious coming down the aisle in the wagon. I think they stole the show!” Megan says.
“They sure did,” Simon pipes in. “Well, have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he calls out as he whisks his wife away.
“That doesn’t leave much!” I call out to his retreating back, and he flips me the bird over his shoulder. “I saw that,” I holler out and see him laughing as Bridget smacks the back of his head.
“GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL,” I wake up Megan, quietly, as I kiss along her jaw, down her neck.
“Hmmmm, morning,” she sleepily moans as I work my way lower down her body. We stayed at the reception last night until the wee hours of the morning, dancing and talking our way through the night. We both fell into bed, exhausted, and promptly passed out. We’ve got a tour to attend today, and then tomorrow will be taking the train to Paris for a few days.
“We have to get up,” I remind Megan as I force myself to stop kissing her exposed skin. If I don’t, we won’t make our tour time and I know it’s one that she’s really been looking forward to.
“Ugh. But it’s so warm and comfortable in bed,” she says as she starts to stretch. “And I was enjoying your lips on me.”
“I’m sure you were,” I bark out in a laugh. If there’s anything we’ve learned this year, it’s to be honest with each other. Our ability to be open with each other and communicate without any hesitation is what’s built our strong connection and relationship. “How about I promise to pick up and continue where I left off when we get back tonight?”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she says, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed as she sits up. I watch as her muscles flex as she lifts her arms high above her head, stretching out her back and upper body. “Quit staring at me,” she chides.
“How did you know I was staring at you? Your eyes were closed.”
“I could feel them on me,” she says, flashing me a sweet smile over her shoulder.
“Babe, my eyes are almost always on you if you’re in the room, especially when you hardly have any clothes on.”
“Same can be said about my eyes on you,” she tells me. “I especially like it when you’re like that,” she says, circling her finger as she points at me.
I look down, only clad in a pair of tight black boxer briefs. “Like what?” I ask, playing dumb. I’m no idiot. I know she likes seeing me naked, or at least, mostly naked.
“Don’t play dumb with me, you know I’m a weakling when you bring out the big guns and display all those muscles. I might have to take up calling you Dr. Sexy, ooh or better yet, Dr. Cocky. Think you can restart my heart when your sexiness causes it to stop?” she says, closing the distance from her side of the bed where her chair was to where I’m standing at the foot of my side of the bed.
“I’m not even going to touch the Dr. Sexy or cocky doc names,” I laugh, bending over to kiss her fully on the lips.
“It has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?” she teases again.