my young face in the album, and then looks up at me. “I already knew I loved you by the time I sent those flowers to you.”
“I already knew I loved you when I got them.”
We share a huge smile, before Fish flips the page. And there I am, so very young again, wearing a pink tank top and shorts. It’s the photo Fish snapped remotely while I danced for him that very first time in my bedroom in Boston. Fish and I talk about the image for a moment—the memories—before he flips another page.
This time, we’re looking at our first-ever selfie, taken in Times Square. As we both know, that selfie was snapped on a magical night of firsts. We had our first kiss that night. We exchanged our first “I love you’s.” After Fish serenaded me at Madison Square Garden, he uploaded that selfie to make us “Instagram Official,” as we kids used to say. And, of course, my husband and I made love for the first time that night, too. Fish and I reminisce about all of it, before Fish turns the page again.
And now, we’re looking at Fish in his underwear, smoldering at the camera like an underwear model, in a photo snapped by me in our hotel room in New York, the night after our night of big firsts.
“Why the hell did you include this one?” Fish says, laughing.
“Because that’s one of my all-time favorite photos of you,” I reply. “Because you were gorgeous in that moment. Sexy. Confident. Charismatic. Romantic. Perfect. And you’re still all of those things today, all these years later.”
Fish flips another page. And another one. And each page reflects yet another special memory from our thirty years together. Until, finally, by the time Fish reaches the last image—a snapshot taken last month at Alfie’s third birthday party—he’s got tears in his green eyes.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He closes the book. “I love you so much.”
I wipe my eyes. “I love you, too. I’ve loved every minute of this life with you.”
Fish wipes at my cheek with his thumb, but he doesn’t speak. By now, my husband knows I often cry when I’m happy—when I’m too overwhelmed with happiness to contain it.
He kisses my salty cheek and asks me if I’m okay. When I say I am, that I’m wonderful, he says, “Good. It’s almost time for the sunset. You want to open that champagne now?”
“Absolutely.”
We throw on soft clothes and head onto our balcony. Fish opens the bottle and pours and we sit on our love seat with our bubbly, cuddled up, and watch the sky turning spectacular shades of orange and pink above the glittering ocean.
“Happy anniversary, love,” my husband says to me, tapping my glass. “I wouldn’t change a thing about our life. Not a single minute.”
“Neither would I. Not a single minute.” I snuggle closer, and whisper-sing, “You’re my first, my last, my best, my only . . .”
And, of course, my husband, my best friend, my lover doesn’t leave me hanging. Right on cue, he whisper-sings the final word of the refrain we wrote together so many years ago. The word that’s every bit as powerful and true today, as it was back then. Even more so.
“Love.”
Check out Ally and Fish’s song, “SMITTEN,” watch the Official Music Video and download the song for FREE, and explore the musical world of River Records and 22 Goats, by clicking here!
If you want to find out how feisty Georgina Ricci brings stubborn Reed Rivers to his knees, start with BAD LIAR, the first book of The Reed Rivers Trilogy - free with Kindle Unlimited!
If you want to read the soaring, sexy, romantic love story of Dax Morgan and Violet Rhodes, read the standalone ROCKSTAR - free with Kindle Unlimited!
And be sure to check out 22 Goats’ original music, including “Fireflies,” at MUSIC FROM ROCKSTAR
To read about Keane and Maddy or Aloha and Zander, check out the related standalones: Ball Peen Hammer and Mister Bodyguard, respectively.
Or, read about the two eldest Morgan brothers in Hero, about firefighter Colby, or Captain, about alpha hottie, Ryan.
All free to read with Kindle Unlimited!
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Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to Sophie Broughton for all you do!
Thank you, Melissa Saneholtz. You’re incredible.
Thank you, Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs.
Thank you to Madonna Blackburn for your eagle eyes and