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“Still stubborn,” I murmur.

“Still obsessed with me.”

“Always.”

She smiles slower at that.

God.

Ten years later and I still can’t get enough of her.

We spread the blanket near the riverbank beneath the stars while the water rushes softly nearby. Nora pours wine into mason jars because she claims “mountain aesthetics matter,” and I watch her tuck her legs beneath herself while summer wind lifts strands of hair around her face.

“You know what’s weird?” she says after a while.

“What?”

“You’re happy.”

I bark out a laugh. “Insulting.”

“No, seriously.” She points her wine at me. “You used to stalk around looking like you wanted to fistfight trees.”

“Trees know what they did.”

She snorts wine laughing.

Worth it.

“But now,” she continues, softer this time, “you smile more.”

I lean back on one arm watching her carefully. “That’s your fault.”

“Probably.”

Silence settles comfortably between us after that while the river moves steadily nearby.

Then Nora glances toward the water.

And I know that look immediately.

“No.”

Her eyes widen innocently. “What?”

“No.”

“We’re absolutely skinny dipping.”

“Baby, we’re forty.”

“And?”

“And our children have exhausted me.”

She stands anyway, already pulling off her boots. “You’re coming.”

“Bossy.”