She shoots to her feet, and I follow, careful not to jostle the table and disturb the cake. At a safe distance, she leaps into my arms and kisses me.
“I love you, Taryn baby,” I tell her, tilting my forehead to hers.
“I love you too, Brock-boo.”
We crack up at our cheesy little nicknames for each other, then our lips meet again. This time it’s slow, deep, passionate.
Like our love.
Like the rest of our life will be—together.
The End
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