Winter Wonderland

twenty: holding out hope

She doesn't often swear but it always amuses me when she does – the words sound foreign coming from her mouth, which twitches into a smile right before I kiss her. My nose presses into her cheek, my body presses into hers, and there's a moment when I can't breathe but I don't care because I'm holding my whole world in my arms.

"I love you so much," I murmur when we pull apart, lowering my forehead to hers. I never realized how much it's possible to love someone until Storie and I were apart and it crushed me, like my lungs forgot how to inflate without her, like my heart couldn't remember how to beat in time.

"I love you too." She kisses me. "Now, not to burst this little bubble, but have you thought about dinner at all? I'm not sure what I want."

"I haven't," I say with a wince. "Sorry. My head's been one hundred percent interview mode all day." I run through my mental list of our favourite meals but nothing jumps out at me and I don't really feel like cooking right now. As gross as it is outside, I feel like getting out of the apartment. "Want to go out? There's a new Thai place that's supposed to be pretty good. Or that tapas place we keep walking past?"

Storie's face lights up. "It's like you're reading my mind."

*

Thai it is. I can't remember the last time I ate Thai food but my stomach groans at the smell as we walk through the door and we're led to the table that Storie reserved half an hour ago. The spicy, comforting aroma envelops me like a warm hug in this shitty weather and I can feel my nerves untangling as we take a seat in a cozy corner table. We have a great view of the whole restaurant from here and I see that look in Storie's eyes; I know she's doing what she and her mom always do. She's watching the people around us and inventing stories for them, making up their names and who they are and why they're here.

But she isn't totally lost in her own world because she nudges my foot under the table and gives me that soft smile, the one that is as calming and rejuvenating as a warm bath, and I melt.

"Don't stress," she says, her hand finding mine and holding it tight enough to be reassuring. She does that when she's trying to pull me out of my own head. "There's nothing you can do now – you've done as much as you can and it's out of your hands. So let's enjoy a good meal, a couple of drinks, and a quickie in the bathroom."

I choke on my water. "What?"

"Just making sure you were listening." She beams, all cute and innocent, and doesn't bat an eye when the server comes to take our order way too soon after we've sat down – not that we need to look at the menu, though, when we both know we're both having the pad thai. She orders a bottle of wine, too, the words sauvignon blanc rolling off her tongue with perfect fluidity, and I feel so behind. Like she has grown so much in the last four years and I've been stagnating. She is a fragrant rose in full bloom, and I'm a mushroom that's been trapped away in a dank and musty cupboard, getting paler and uglier and more bitter.

But she has flung open the doors. I am no longer shrouded in shadow but bathed in light, her glow reflecting off me, and holy fuck I need to get this job because I want to give her the most perfect wedding someday.

"What's on your mind?" she asks, sipping her wine.

"You," I say, and at the risk of coming on way too strong so early in the second chance of our relationship, I add, "Just thinking about how much I can spend on our wedding if I get this job."

Storie grins. Fuck, she's so beautiful when she smiles. I mean, she's fucking stunning anyway, but that smile? It's revolutionary. "At least half a year's salary," she says.

"That's an expensive wedding."

"Thirty thousand? Pfft. Pocket change."

"I hope you're joking." I widen my eyes and hers crease.