He tells me in jest, "I picked her up on a street corner in Honolulu." They became friends. Then one day a switch flipped and he biked to her house, bottle of bourbon in hand. She wasn't home, and so he left it on the doorstep. But she came home just as he was leaving. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Me: So, it’s looking like it’s still raining.
Them: We’re up for anything.
Me: Excellent. Let’s do this.
I swear this woman has bottled all the spunk in the world into her tiny frame. Married for sometime now with four gorgeous babies, they love each other so much, it’s tangible and beautiful to be around.
She is a gypsy heart and a seamstress of words, strung together so powerfully it’s like a nourishing glass of water and being taken out at the knees all at the same time. He is a preacher of those same words and a damn fine lover of her. They love experiencing new memories in new places. Hatcher’s Pass- that look out, that view, and that ground never held any significance to them. Until March 7th.
These honeys crush on each other harder than middle schoolers on a playground. And I dig it. They've got that new gotta-touch-you-gotta-hold-you kind of love. It's fresh and so very intoxicating. It requires very little direction and much freedom to roam free, hands upon hands upon limbs upon love.
That day, I knew. “I knew the way you know about a good melon.” As we road tripped together, we told our stories and I came to know that there was something more. Something deeper that pulled them together. The effervescence, the rightness, and the undeniable comfort these two have with each other is palpable. And it is good, so good.