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After the fireworks show on the hill, you’d eaten your small picnic and simply watched the stars until Jack’s yawns became more frequent than his kisses. Then you’d both fallen into bed and to sleep almost instantly, the weight of the last few months heavy on you.
The next morning you stirred awake in the early morning light, more rested than you’d been in months, undoubtedly thanks to the snoring furnace curled against you. You can’t stop the smile that dances across your face as Jack slumbered along, knowing this is likely the most sleep he’s had in the last few months too. His arm is wrapped around your waist, your back pressed firmly into him, as if he’s afraid you’ll have disappeared in the night. If you were honest, you’d feared the same; that your magical night had been a fevered dream of your yearning imagination. Now, turning gently to face Jack, you sighed softly. He was safe. He was home.
You stretched up to kiss him softly, his mustache tickling your lips as you did. His arm tightened around you, pressing you flush against his shirtless chest.
“Well darlin’ if that ain’t the best wakeup call an old man could get,” he murmured, eyes still closed as he breathed you in. “But I think we both deserve a little more sleep.”
You yawned, and as much as you wanted Jack, you were tired. And there was always time later. Snuggling under the sheets, you doze back off.
The second time you roused, you’re alone in the bed, and you panicked for a moment. Then you spotted Jack’s signature stetson dangling from its hook on the back of the closet door. A warm smell, vanilla, and blueberries, laced with the greasy aroma of bacon drifted through the room, lifting you from the bed and carrying you downstairs. You grinned to see Jack, in familiar grey sweatpants and a snug-fitting blue t-shirt duel wielding spatulas at the stove.
“Call me surprised,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around Jack from behind. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a handsome man making me breakfast?”
Smoothly flipping a pancake over, Jack grinned, “I know you didn’t make blueberry pancakes yesterday, plus I was gone for our anniversary. I thought we could celebrate both this morning.”
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, moving to sit at the counter while Jack continued cooking.
“Then I thought,” he continued, eyes dark as he takes you in wearing his favorite nightgown, “we could have some more fireworks.”
“You’re not too tired?” you asked, knowing the answer.
“I’m never too tired for you darlin’. Besides, I got a lot of making up to do, bein’ gone so long.” He set a finished plate of food in front of you before sliding into the chair beside you with his own.
“I missed you,” you whispered, and he leans forward to kiss your forehead.
“I miss you when you’re out of sight my love,” he answered. “Now eat your pancakes before they get cold.”
You grin and took a bite of the fluffy discs, studded with ripe berries. They taste like home. They taste like love.