I sit on the porch swing, swaying gently. The day is about over with and the pinks and reds of the horizon hypnotize me. My wife startles me as she comes and sits down next to me jarring me out of my daze. She snuggles up close to my side. I rest my arm on her shoulder to allow her to rest her head on my chest. We sit in compatible silence for a while when she interrupts the quiet by saying, “Remember when we first met?”

“How could I forget? It was one of the best days of my life,” I reply.

“So sure,” she shoots back.

“It is,” I say, “that’s the day that a young, opinionated girl, came to town and turned my life upside down.”

“Well, don’t think you didn’t have an impact on my life either, mister smarty pants,” she says with a chuckle.

“I remember that day like it was yesterday,” I begin, as I flashback to the day that brought me to my best friend. “July 16, the hottest day I had ever encountered, and the day the universe decided to present you to me,” I look at my wife and catch the small smile on her face. Pleased with myself for making her happy. “I was sweating buckets from having to work in the garden with my grandma.”

“Work,” she says, putting her hands up to make imaginary quotation marks. “I’m sure you were just making more work for poor, old grandma Betty Jo?”

“No, miss doubtful, I was helping her and she was very happy with the work we accomplished. I’ll have you know,” I reply, defending myself.

“So how did you end up in the creek? Weren’t you supposed to helping Betty Jo?” she questions with a mischievous grin plastered on her face.

“Well, me being a curious, little boy, I wanted to run and play and see what I could find,” I confess to my wife.

“Instead of assisting your dear, old grandma? And you still need to answer my question as to how you ended up in the creek,” she interrupts.

“I’m getting there, patience my dear, patience,” I tell her as I give her nose a little tweak. She gives me a little slap on the chest, like a love tap. “It’s hot, I’m sweating, and what does any little kid want to do when it’s hot?”

“Not help the elderly apparently,” my wife smirks.

“Hey, for the record, Betty Jo went into the house to do laundry. She didn’t need my help in the garden anymore,” I say. I know it is a lame excuse, but I have to defend myself.

“Because God forbid you fold a shirt in your life,” she says as she throws her hands in the air.

“Whoa there babe, Betty Jo told me I could go play, so back off, okay?” I snap at her, hurt that my wife thinks that I just ditched my Grandma.

“Easy,” she tells me. “I was just kidding.” She places a small, tender kiss on my lips instantly relaxing me. “So Betty Jo lets you go to blow off some steam, is that when you went to the stream?”

“It is,” I confirm. “I was so excited to be going to the water. I sprint to the water’s edge and over joyed with the cooling sensation the water offers, I dive in head first, clothes and all.”

“Of course you did, why would you do anything else?” she chuckles.

I smile at her comment and continue on, “I love the smell of the water and the solitude of the location. It was my place to be me, do whatever I want, and be free. I couldn’t tell you how long I was there. When I am in that spot, time seemed to stand still.

“I didn’t realize how late it was getting, though, until I looked up at the sky and noticed that the sun was almost gone behind the horizon. I waded out of the water as quickly as I could because I knew that Grandma would worry if she didn’t see me. I got out and started the trek back to grandma’s house.”

“That explains why you were all wet; can I ask why you were running like a cat with a dynamite stick taped to its tail?”

“You can ask, and I will give you the answer,” I respond to her, “As I was walking, I looked far into the distance and I saw the silhouette of someone. Intrigued by this new find I ran faster to catch up to you.”

“You were running toward a total stranger? Most, sane people don’t run to complete strangers,” she berates me.

“Well, go back in time and tell me that, would you?” I challenger her. “Besides, it was a small town where everyone knew everything.” I tell her after she rolls her eyes at me.

“You do have a point there,” she admits. “And you usually collide with the people you don’t know?”

“Okay, that was a total mistake, I didn’t mean to take you out,” I apologize to her, “I was running into the light and I was blinded for a second. I thought you were further up the road, but then you were right in front of me and I took you out.” I try to explain to her.

“I think you did it on purpose,” she looks at me with her big, blue eyes.

“Maybe I did,” I challenge her, “you’ll never know.”

“Oh, I see how you’re going to be,” she says, “carry on.”

“Why? You know the rest. You were there remember?” I tease her.

“I know what happened, I just want to hear about the incident from your point of view,” she tells me.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you. After I hit you and helped you back up, I was mesmerized by your eyes. They were the bluest blue I had ever seen. They were absolutely stunning, they about knocked me on my butt. It took me a while to get my wits about me, but, finally, I offered to walk you home,” I look her straight I those baby blues and I get lost in them again for a little longer, just like the first time I saw them. “That was when I noticed the jar you were carrying. I asked you, ‘what’s in the jar?’ and you glared at me and said, ‘none of your business.’ So being the instigator that I am I stuck my finger in your jar and immediately pulled it out. I was too fast for your reflexes.” I smile at her.

“Yeah, but you were too slow to advert form my punch. I do remember you said, ‘ow.’ Not going to lie to you, I was very pleased with myself to make a boy say ow,” she confesses to me.

“I still licked my finger though to find out what it was you were carrying, pleasantly surprised to learn that it was honey. The best honey that I ever tasted by the way,” I say purposefully giving her the compliment. It was the best honey I ever tasted. Naturally sweet and delicious, one of the world’s magical concoctions.

“It better have been,” my wife says.

“I think I said something along the lines of, ‘that is some really good honey. Can I have more?’ you shot me down so fast with your ‘no’ it almost knocked me over. You said, ‘you cannot have any. It is for Betty Jo.’”

“It was for Betty Jo, I just had no clue that Betty Jo was your grandmother,” she tells me.

“And I bet you had a good time walking with me to my grandmother’s house to deliver the honey from your mom,” I ask her.

“Even though I went kicking and screaming, ranting about how I didn’t need an escort, deep down, I was very pleased to have someone to walk with me. I was getting lonely on the walk and I was nervous that I would get lost, so I was glad that you showed up,” she confides in me.

“Thank you.”

“You are the most welcome,” I tell her, “For the record I loved walking with you too. To think that we’ve been walking together ever since. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she sighs.

The silence surrounds us again as the sun finally dips below the horizon and the dark of the night swarms around us.