“He picked the name Mila because of her.”
The man has depths under his tough exterior. Same as my wife.
“Hey,” she calls down when I’m quiet for too long. “Wanna come up and take a look?”
Climbing up the ladder makes me feel like a kid again, even as the rungs creak underneath my feet. When I reach the top, my wife is beaming. She’s so proud of herself, as she should be.
“Well, what do you think?”
“Awesome,” I say, not looking around but settling my gaze into those copper-flecked green eyes. My arms go around her middle, my hands finding their home at the small of her back. Mila snuggles into me, her torso melting and her hips rubbing against the front of my jeans.
“Oz! The treehouse,” she laughs.
Grudgingly, I tear my eyes away from my wife. The space looks just big enough for two people to sleep comfortably.
“Hey, maybe we should test it out tonight,” I suggest.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we should sleep up here. Camp out.”
My wife’s voice is full of teasing skepticism. “Somehow, I don’t think you intend for us to sleep or camp up here.”
“Hey, I thought you liked roughing it,” I counter.
Mila clucks her tongue at me. “I said I like it rough. I don’t find it easy to sleep without a proper bed.”
“That’s what I’m here for, babe. I’m your mattress every other night, why should this be any different?” She laughs, I tease. We play, and pet, and tease, and make each other breathless. Together we lose ourselves in the moment, bathing each other in kisses, each of us covered in the scent of campfire and sweat and the outdoors. I’m so overwhelmingly blessed that I get to have this life with Mila, Rigby, our family and friends.
I make good on my words about tonight. As the sun goes down, Mila and I miss the bonfire, the s’mores and the campfire pies. Instead we do terrible things to each other in this tiny space that’s not at all meant for adults. The taboo of it only heightens my ache for her.
We’ve grown so close to each other over the years and yet I never tire of watching her face, kissing that mouth, listening to her sweet moans as we melt into each other. Every time we come together like this I still marvel that she’s mine.
But my favorite part is still what comes after. I notice everything and drink it all in. Mila nestling down against my chest. The distant laughter around the fire. The rustling leaves. The light from the moon dancing off the ends of Mila’s eyelashes as she sleepily blinks up at the heavens.
“I love you,” I whisper, kissing the top of her heat.
“Love you too, my sweet pile of mush,” she mumbles, barely awake.
At moments like this, I like to imagine heaven looking back down on us and smiling. I’d like to think her parents, Patricia and Paul, are happy to see what we’ve built together, and I silently send thanks to them, and to Khaz, for sending Mila to me.
THE END