I bring the Chipotle bag with us, doling out entrees, forks, and napkins. We eat silently, both clearly ravenous, gulping down the meal in a matter of seconds.

“Next time you feel light-headed, you tell me before you almost pass out after sex. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agrees, wiping her hands and tossing her garbage into the bag. “This is the best date night we’ve had.”

“And it’s just getting started. Ready for the movie?”

We find a comfortable position, me propped up against the pillows, Emma’s head on my chest, as I hit play on the remote. Reaching across her stomach, I find the plate of cookies and hand her one.

“How is it that I love you more now than I did 10 minutes ago?” she inquires in between bites. Crumbs fall onto my shirt, and I don’t bother wiping them away.

I’m not a religious man. I’ve never been to church. I’ve never opened a book of prayer. Heaven isn’t something I’ve imagined or pictured. I realize, sitting here with the angel in my arms, heart beating in time with mine… It’s this.

This is heaven.

This is paradise.

Nirvana.

The great beyond.

It’s messy. Imperfect. Full of mistakes and forgiveness. Passion and joy. Love. A future. A past. A present. Experiencing it all. Together.

She is my salvation. My one and only.

“Let me love you the way you deserve, Emma. In the early morning under the sunrise, together in our sheets. Late at night when we drift off to sleep, protecting you and keeping you warm. Here in a tent watching a cartoon movie about dinosaurs that’s as old as us. When we argue and fight and then kiss and make up. Over tacos and cookies. All of the above and everything in between.”

Her chin tilts up, and I’m met with the smile I unexpectedly fell in love with years and years ago. Soft. Kind. Perfect.

Mine.

EPILOGUE

HENRY

Two years later

I check the time on my watch, cursing under my breath. The meeting I was sitting in ran late, making me even later to my next destination. The vibrating phone in my pocket confirms my tardiness and I curse again, pulling it out and scowling at the onslaught of messages.

JL: I can’t believe this is happening.

NR: Me neither. Two years is way too long.

PW: H, Lola told me to let you know she dropped Emma off five minutes ago.

NL: Did anyone else know babies cry an absurd amount? Fuck. Sorry for the delay, I’m here. With spit-up on me.

NL: You ready, Hen?

HD: Speaking of spit-up… I think I’m going to puke.

PW: Thatta boy.

JL: You’ll be fine.

NR: Just like we practiced, remember?

NL: Except this time, it’s real.

JL: Yeah. Less cursing and use of the words “fucking assholes” would probably be best.