I'm sitting in front of a freestanding glass in my knickers. Knickers is a bit of an understatement, because the rig that I have got myself strapped into may be a feat of engineering. The last time I was here, about to say 'I do', I had looked perfect but felt so hollow inside that I was having a panic attack. Today, it's the opposite. Well, not exactly. I don't feel hollow, of anything, I'm brimming. I'm even up a little because the love weight I'd found when in the neoinfancy of my relationship had stuck around. And I'd somehow been ok with it. Because the love had stuck around too. And so had I.

We have a strict no running policy.

But I'm sitting here practically naked except for white straps, because my mum has insisted on being in charge of my dress. Claiming it was one less thing I needed to be fussed about. I'd agreed, because frankly I've been floating on air through this entire process. But it is a little chilly in this place and I'd really like to get in my dress.

I love my dress, it's slim and sophisticated and high end. It's a dream, but I can't say I don't  think of my perfect dress. How one woman could have had three separate wedding dresses by 26 years old left me scoffing at myself.

"Knock, knock!" I hear my mum's voice call over the click of the door and I laugh out loud.

"Why do people say 'knock knock' instead of actually knocking?" I ask.

"Dunno, I just didn't want to catch you unawares." She looks so healthy and I see her admire herself in the glass.

"Mum, I'm basically naked in here, you are a welcome sight." I smile at her as she hangs my dress on the hook. "You look well fit!" I can't help but compliment. She smiles and looks at her silhouette, glowing. If the second bout of cancer and the resulting mastectomy had yielded anything positive, it was my mum's appreciation of her new boobs. Apparently my dad's too, as she likes to tell me so that I make a face and my dad can say, "Wanda!" Then he smile at her conspiratorially.

I love watching them now, honestly. All the subtle touches and lovely consideration they have for each other is so amazing now that I have their story. Now that I've fictionalized it and gotten it published. I'm in on their secrets and it's such a gift.

"How's it look? All those wrinkles only you could see ironed out?" I stand up to look and my mum stops me.

"Give me a moment, I want to take a picture."

"But you've already seen me in it, Mum?"

She looks weird for a minute, "I know," she stutters, "but I didn't take any pictures of the lovely thing, because I was afraid they'd be seen and spoil it."

I shrug at her reasoning, but let her sift through her teeny bag and get her phone out and up.

"Oh My God! Mum!" I cry as I open the white garment bag and tears spring to my eyes. I'm totally overwhelmed. "Mum! How? How did you find it?" I gasp out as I slip the cover off my dress. The dress, the perfect one, that I tried on and should have taken as a big fate sign from fate. In some ways I did, I suppose.

"I didn't!" She says

"I did." And then I hear Harry's voice come through her phone's speakers.

My first reaction is to run to the phone and see his face. Then I realize I'll spoil the surprise of my undergarments. Then it dawns on me, he's seen my dress. After everything we have been through I don't want to chance fate at all. I can't wear the dress if he has seen it.

"Oh, Harry! Thank you, but I can't wear it now not if you have seen it!" I stamp the heel of my shoe just a bit, though I know it's childish. I really am a little sad I can't have it.

"Told you!" My mum says into the speaker. "It's not a video darling. And Harry hasn't seen the dress. But I may have mentioned it and he latched onto the idea."

I snatch the phone from her hand. "What did you do?" The words are recriminatory, but my tone is full of air and the tears I'm trying to suppress would look like soap bubbles under a microscope because I am so happy.

"I called your mum, after I'd read our book, to see where in Jamaica you were," he says. "Seemed like fate I was there too. Though you beat me to the punch on that one. Your mum and I got to talking and she told me how she knew, well,had a strong inkling the first one wasn't gonna take. And she told me about the dress." His voice, always thick and deep, was like a malted milkshake with his emotion now. "I knew then that I had to get ahold of it. Your mum warned me I couldn't see it. But she did a little leg work and my assistant tracked a couple down."

"A couple?" I gape, though he can't see me.

"Yeah, Angel, I didn't know what size you would be when we made it down the aisle. And I wanted you to have optio—"

"Harry, I love you!!" And I'm crying in earnest and know that I'm gonna have to start all over on my face. I'm especially glad contouring and strobing have passed out of fashion, because the minimalist look is all I am going to be able to pull off with the rivers of emotion flowing through me today.

"Oh, Melody, I think I've loved you since you were sat in that hallway in a stained shirt listening to 'Happily' on your headphones."

"You could hear it?" He never told me that.

"Yeah, like, I totally could. Now my love, it took us many, um, years, roads, and hallways," he emphasizes, "to get here, and I'd quite like to call you my wife sooner rather than later. Fix your face, and get your ass down that aisle, please." he finishes with politeness.

"Can you ever just be a twat, baby?" I laugh.

"Nope, I was raised too well."

"Too right." And I hang up on him with a laugh and giggle cry my way to the mirror to fix the red on my cheeks.

When I get there, it looks more like a blush, and my wet eyes glisten. I am a bit of a mess and I like it that way, so I wipe my face and redo my eyeliner wings and ask my mom to put me into my perfect dress. The dress I knew I should marry Harry in, when I wasn't even sure that we would get here.

I was pretty certain we were not going to get there while I sat on a beautiful little island and waited, and waited, and waited. I'm not sure what I expected and I had mourned enough expectations in my life that I should have known better by then. But I didn't, I guess I thought that after I ate two whole crows when I emailed Gemma and Anne and asked for their help that the giant organ beneath Harry's smooth, decorated chest would be touched and he would come to me.

In my imagination, I'd be sitting on the beach, or better yet, walking down the tiny hallway between my quarters and the door to the school and a knock would sound, and on the other side would be the boy, the man of my dreams. "Melody," my full name in that way only he could say it would slip between his upturned red lips and I'd watch his arms come up. There would be hesitation, but he'd open to me and I'd find my place, that place where my head notched into his collarbones and my lips fall just on the top of the swallow's wings. His lips would press to the side of his neck and we would just breathe, just for a moment while we reacquainted ourselves with all the ways we fit together.

I'd hope I'd finally be able to find the words, but if all I could say was "Harry!" That will be ok, for the time being. There will be times for words, but right at that moment the things we need to say can wait. We have said a lot, but we hadn't touched, not like this, openly and with want and hope, in so long. Then we'd move from hugging to kissing, and that could go on for all night for all I care.

That's a lie, there are places deep inside that I only feel when he is inside me. And I'd want that form of communication, communion, as soon as we could find it, too. But after that, I could go for some kisses that last all night.

These were all of my hopes, pesky daydream induced expectations.

After I got the terse response of, "You mental?" from Gemma after my email I figured I may have to let them go. But it only took another terse message of "I'll pass it on" a week later to have me doodling Mrs. Styles in the margin of the journal I was still meeting during my afternoons.

Anne's response hadn't come for some time, over a month, and I hoped it was down to her age, and not that she saw my name and immediately deleted the email.

We had got on immediately and I missed her. She would reach out to me when Harry and I were apart, and she was lovely and comforting. It felt like she loved me once. Losing her didn't hurt like losing Harry, but it ached when I thought about it.

Her response was an address, below it was the word "Go." And that was it. I received it in the morning on a Friday nearly five weeks after I had gotten so desperate that I reached out to two people who may very well have hated me. And one responded as expected, then changed her tune. The other said nothing, then gave me an address, which when I googled I discovered was two hours away by car, four by bus.

I could only conclude that they read my book, or Gemma did, and it at least convinced them to share it with Harry. The most concerning point was that his mom had given me his address, but he had my love letter, the book, the story of our lives, and he hadn't come.

But he had come to me, three times at least, and I said I would wait, or come to him, or meet him.

It was time I met him more than halfway.

I had a full day of classes I had to finish. Much good it did my students and me to be there. I was incredibly distracted. I spent at least the last hour in my classroom deciding if I should get dressed and freshen up and get an hour later start, if the bus was on time, which it would only be if I tried to push it and get ready and run for it, or if I should go like I was.

That morning had been like any other and it was hot, but less muggy, so I'd thrown on a cotton sundress that tried to meet my knees with the oldest undies I'd packed because I really needed to do laundry. I was incredibly nervous, I kept telling myself that I had no idea where Anne was sending me, but there was a loud voice in my head screaming that she was sending me to Harry, and that somehow he was here in Jamaica. It felt like serendipity.

The bus was crowded and hot and I was sandwiched into a window seat next to a young mother with a very little baby, who seemed to be sleeping or nursing the entire way. I'd smiled and cooed and before journey's end, the mother had smiled and passed me the baby and promptly fallen asleep. Luckily the baby stayed that way too. I didn't know little ones smelled so good. I had to shake the mother awake when it was my turn to pull the chain to stop the bus. She looked as confused as I felt when I handed her child back to her, but gave me a sleepy smile when she looked at the sleeping infant.

The bus depot was free standing and didn't seem to be near much of anything, though it was painted with a food advertisement, the black and red paint stark against the white walls. I pulled out my phone and the GPS said I had a 30 min walk ahead of me, seemingly uphill. That was poetic justice, I'm sure Harry felt he had an uphill battle with me from day one. Sometimes I did even with myself. There was a part of me that hoped that this time, we could get it right. That we were older and wiser and knew our flaws and could communicate around them, that it would be easier this time, that the moments of high flying joy, like sailing on a trapeze, were not coupled with plummets to the ground below.

I was trying to think of what I'd say to him, because I wasn't gonna allow myself to clam up the way I had a habit of doing, not this time. And he may have not read our book, though I was fairly certain that he was in possession of it and that his mother felt like we had a shot. Or she wanted to give Harry the opportunity to break my heart in real time. That didn't sound like Anne at all, so I struck that thought from my head.

I was thinking about her motivation and my mortification and the fact that she knew entirely too much about me and Harry's former sex life. It made my future chockful of humiliation, maybe. I would hopefully be in a situation where I would have to see her, share a meal, maybe even lots of Christmases, if this went my way and I wasn't back on a sweaty bus in rural Jamaica in an hour's time. And she would know Harry took my virginity. My cheeks heated.

I felt the first drop hit my nose and there was no counting the rest of them. It cooled my blush at least. I could see the house by now, nestled on a hillside, and I could hear the sea crashing but not see it. In other circumstances, I may have admired it. Right now, I was running instead. My dress was a light blue, but I was fairly certain the top would be sheer and the bottom caked brown in a few moments. I kicked off my sandals and grabbed them on a run just as I reached the porch and nearly fell scrambling up the steps on my slippery feet, they seemed insistent on going the opposite way I wanted them too. When I reached the top stairs under the awning I looked out and caught my breath. Even in the deluge, the view was green and wild and gorgeous.

Even more gorgeous was the group of men coming over the rise from the direction I could hear the waves coming from. I could pick out Harry, farthest from my left and slightly in front, as ever. He was too far off to see, but I could recognize the set of his shoulders and his loping stride, hips slightly forward, and the mess of wet tendrils on his head woke a longing in me that made me forget all about talking.

As if he could hear my indrawn breath over the pounding rain, his head came up and he stopped while his companions kept walking. Looking at him across a distance, it was a familiar place. We were missing a hallway, but maybe this should be a new beginning.

All of my feelings were out in the open, so being contained by walls would feel wrong.

I watched the water drop off his hair to the ground and followed it down to his bare feet and watched the surfboard he carried, a longboard like my now shared acquisition, drop by his feet into the soggy ground. It spattered his toes with mud. I followed the mud up and passed its ascent to his knobby knees and wet thighs where fabric clung on and revealed ink I'd never seen. The tucked up fabric nearly reached the drooped waistline on his right side and I say the ferns I'd traced and hated and loved so fiercely, and my eyes continued their caress. He was bigger since I'd last seen him, more robust, a man. I hoped mine. I wanted to fly along his collarbones like those swallows he'd chosen. His mouth had always been a distraction, but I glanced over it now, and found his eyes on my messy form.

His friends had stopped and I think I heard "H" ring out. I echoed it.

"H?" I called. I needed a sign. I'd make the first step if needs be, but I had to know if he wanted me to close the distance between us. There was a infinitesimal nod and a half step on his part and I dropped my things and tripped down the stairs, my legs going faster than the sucking mud at my feet wanted me to go. I got right up to him and stopped short.

"Harry." I breathed and caught him by the neck while his hand circled my waist. That gave me a confidence. "I'm so sorry, H!" and I pushed his hair off his forehead where it nearly covered his eyes, I needed to see his eyes. They were warm but surprised, maybe a little wary, but he still had his hands on me. That was good.

"Melody, what're you doing here?" His voice tumbled low, and it was like the vibrations of it moved through me and I understood those more than the actual words he said. "How'd you find me?" He asked and he didn't sound mad or wary any more just curious with a hint of the feeling when you find lost keys and you are running late.

"Your mum. She just sent me the address and told me to go." My head fit into my place on his chest, that concavity that had deepened and was unmarred, but that I had claimed by writing my name with my tongue and fingers, right over his heart.

"Ah," he returned into the shell of my ear as he found his niche. Where his lips could curve around the angled line where the back of my neck became the front. "Hi Angel."

"Hi Baby," I hummed.

"Excuse me gents?" Harry said, pulling his head away and the breeze I felt on my neck with the pouring rain was a shock after his warmth. He hoisted me up, his arm going under my ass and I clutched his hips with my thighs as he climbed the stairs. He nudged me with his chin to look up, when I did, all I could see was the blue ring at the edge of his irises with just a touch of jade before the black. Some buried knowledge resurfaced and I slanted in the perfect opposite angle to him and felt hot breath pass my lips before his mouth clasped onto mine. We'd kissed a bit in recent memory, but it was frenzied and desperate and wrong.

This was everything right. My arms gripped him a little harder as the stairs bounced me against him and he stepped up into the house. "H, did you read it? The book?" I asked straight away, couldn't help myself.

"I did, Melody," he caressed the syllables, "over and over. But, I just, I wasn't sure I was ready to come to you."

I wanted to climb down then, feeling wretched. "Do you want me to go?" And I dreaded the bus ride.

His arms tightened around me and he kissed me, a light touch of his lips, deepening while he held me just the doorframe. He'd wiggles him tongue into my panting mouth and I whined the moment he stopped. I felt myself dripping.

"We are gonna get the floor all wet," I warned.

"I wanna get you all wet, fuck the floor." He dove back into my kiss and the walls sailed by me in a blur as he took me down a seemingly endless hallway before pressing me to the door at the end of it. That answer had me gasping and climbing his hips.

"H, Baby, shouldn't we talk first?" I hated myself for asking while he moved to my neck and was trying to juggle getting my wet dress strap off my shoulder and getting the door open.

"After." After, yeah, that felt like a solid plan when my nipple slipped out above the cup of my sundress as he got it to my waist. His opposite hand was working on getting the bottom of my dress to the same place at the equator of my body.

"Ok, yeah," his mouth closed over my peak and I bit my lip and opened my eyes in response. "Shit, H, we are still in the hallway!" I was very inclined to let him have me against the door with the warm firm presence between my thighs, but I remembered his entourage outside, including the man who had brought me Harry's CD in Shanghai.

"So?" He bit out while biting down and I moaned his name to the air around us when I heard a door close with a little too much force and an awkward burst of laughter.

That woke me up a little. "So, do you want your friends to be an audience for this?" He had settled his chin on my breastbone to look up at me and I was breathless with being near him like this. I was hoping this wasn't some kind of 'love you goodbye'. It didn't feel like one. It felt wild and wonderful, but also like a prologue.

He took the hand that had been at my waist and clutched my chin, his thumb found my bottom lip and I was willing to go as high as he wanted to take me. Harry must have wanted that, my desperate agreement, because he pushed my weight, with an 'uff' from both of us, against the door to hold me up and found the door knob. He carried me in to a dream of a bed with four posters and I caught a little writing altar out of the corner of my eye. It was beneath the window, just like mine, and thrilled at the symmetry.

I smiled at him. "Hey, I love you."

He stopped a foot from the bed. It was abrupt, his plan interrupted by my words. He unhooked my legs from his hips and sat me on my feet. I could practically hear the brakes he put on our physical momentum. It scared me. Had I said it too soon? It felt long overdue to me.

"Baby?" I questioned as he stared at me. I ducked my eyes and switched to "H?" While I tried to pull-up my strap to cover my still exposed breast.

He caught my hand and pulled it back down, then did the same to its compatriot and my dress thwacked against the wooden floors. He pushed his thumbs into my undies and had to get them to nearly my knees before the cling of the water in them released my flesh. Harry then took care of the board shorts that wanted to adorn his flesh.

Once we were both naked, he cupped my face with both hands and kissed me soft and slow. With his eyes closed he pulled back a fraction of an inch and said, "I love you." Then his eyes popped open and found mine there still tight with a fraction of worry. "Of course, I love you, Melody." My name was a song again and the first time I was bare to him, when he had kept his jeans on, was echoing in my mind.

But he was bare to me too. So I mimicked him and held his face like it was the most precious thing I'd ever found, because it was. Then I put my hand over his pounding heart. "I never stopped loving you. I want to love you from now on, better."

"Yeah." He answered and pushed me back to the bed and used his forward momentum to lay me out beneath him, his mouth catching my lips quick before finding the notch where my collarbones met. "Dreamed about this, you coming to me," he said from between my breasts, mouthing at each again before moving to the the tips of my ribs, and then my right hipbone before he kissed my lower stomach until it fluttered like eyelashes. "Wasn't able to come to you. Least not yet. But, just today I woke up with your smell," he opened my thighs, "in my nostrils" he inhaled then bit where my thigh joined my pelvis and I yelped his name. "God.'" he swore, then he pinched my thigh.

"Ouch!" I was startled from the cloud I was climbing up."What was that for, asshat?"

"Just wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming again." He smiled and rubbed a thumb over the intimate place his fingers had marked.

I reached down and yanked his drying curls. "There! Feel like a dream?" I sassed.

"Yes, actually!" His dimples made me want to scream, "But I couldn't taste in my dreams." And he put that mouth on me, right where I wanted him, without preamble or caution. The stroke of his tongue painted me in pink swirls and red lines. When he split me open with his fingers and coaxed a tiny orgasm out nearly immediately he chuckled.

"That was quick." He congratulated himself.

"It's been a while." I explained.

"Yeah, years," He grieved before getting a serious look and going back for seconds.

His long strikes and flicking tongue erased every minute between us as a real orgasm, the quaking kind that requires a scream, came out. Before I could even fathom where I was, I felt his tip at my entrance and breathed out as the pressure kept up and he pressed deep into me.

"You good?" He asked and though I had found all the words, I could feel him everywhere within me and their letters were just beyond reach right now. He filled up all of my hidden places and was physically just that touch beyond comfortable. He always had been.

"Yeah, you're just," I looked down at his head, he'd bent himself to keep up the pleasurable touches, licking at a nipple and his nose found the crease between my torso and arm. He rolled his neck to look at me to finish that sentence. I hadn't even said it and he looked proud. I wanted to knock him down a few pegs, but if a large cock was a pride for a man, he had every right to it. And what's more, he knew how to use it. That was the real delight, for me. I rolled my head to him. "You're filling me up, Baby." He preened and used his right thigh to push me more open to him, until he was seated at the end of me.

"Yeah? It's good?" I was gonna take the piss because I thought for a minute he was just fishing for compliments, but when I looked in his eyes, insecurity was the bait on the hook. He seemed genuinely concerned somewhere inside of him that having him inside of me wasn't everything I had needed for years.

I pulled a hand off of where it was clutching his shoulder and smoothed up until the web between my thumb and fingers cradled his ear. "H, Harry, I missed you so much, all of you, but nothing feels like being yours like this." And I flexed my hips against him to gain just that extra centimeter to prove it. My head rolled back on my neck involuntarily and Harry seemed mollified enough.

He pulled out to the tip and rode back in and my sweet touch switched to a grasp at his hair in response. The opposite hand reached for one of the poles of the bed while he stroked into me. I needed something to hold onto. I bit into my arm to stifle a loud moan when his rolling motion picked up a circular aspect and his pubic hair rubbed against my swollen clit.

He had hold of my shoulders, but he released one to pull my teeth from the flesh of my bicep. "None of that. Let me hear you." He groaned on his upstroke himself, it wasn't overly loud, but anybody near the door would know what we were up to. Not that our reunion scene wasn't a clear enough illustration. But to make it harder for me to keep quiet he caught the hand in his hair and the one gripped onto the bed for control with both of his hands and held me fast, while he picked up his centrifugal pace.

"Harry!" came out on a shout and I bit my lip.

His head went back and he groaned his approval. He fucked into me then and the only real sounds for some time were the beating of our hearts where they were pressed together, the slapping of our skin and the uncontrollable utterances he was pulling out of me with every push.

"Fuck, fuck, H! I'm gonna..." and I was just about to crest a wave that felt like dropping in on a board when he slowed his perfect pace and pulled out. "Wha?!?" I complained.

He just shook his head at me. "Not yet." And he flipped me like a flapjack and traced his mouth over my spine, lingering on my sacral space until my squirming and gasps encouraged him to find the tips of my shoulders where he bit and kissed until I was gripping the sheets. I'd pulled the cotton off one corner of the bed and was gripping mattress by the time he angled my hips to arch my back up and I looked over my shoulder to watch him wet his tip with spit and clutch the glans with his hand, his thumb angled to fit himself in. It occurred to me that he was bare and we hadn't had a discussion.

"Baby," I said with a tone meant to catch. "Are we good?" I nodded at his bare dick. Though it seemed at least 30 minutes too late for this conversation.

He looked confused for a minute, his gaze had been very focused on the hub of my body. He shook his head a little. "Yeah, you?"

"Covered." I said thinking about the IUD I'd had for years.

He leaned down then and kissed my cheek sweetly and I looked him in the eye when he pushed in and rocked back onto him. He held my gaze and brushed my hair back holding it all in one hand while he held his chest lightly on me and found the rhythm that still made me shake. From behind, he hit a spot along the front of my canal that made me writhe and my eyes closed soon without my permission. I bit into the arm I was laying on until the orgasm I had caused me to taste a tiny hint of rust.

"Oh Angel, fuck!" Harry responded to my joy and pulled me up onto my knees with him. I was shaking and whining a little from the over stimulation, but he didn't slow down. He rubbed the tops of my shoulders sweetly with an occasional grip while he was fighting off his end.

I felt a tear and a sob come out because of all of the feelings and the next wave that was coming on. I choked on my feelings, "Harry!"

"Melody, it's ok baby."

"Let's make it ok?" I looked back at him and then found myself babbling as I reached a peak higher than its predecessors. "I love you Harry, I love you so much, we have to make this work, and I won't run, Not again, I love you, please."

"Angel, it's ok, God damn," he panted. "I love you, too." And he began to empty himself inside before pulling out and finishing by painting my back as he stroked himself to completion.

We were both breathless and Harry laid himself on my back and I knew we were going to be glued together if he didn't get up soon. I wanted to stitch his skin to mine, so that was ok with me. But I knew I needed to see where Harry was at. I'd confessed a lot, and he'd received it, me, favorably, but I needed, we needed, to talk.

But for now, he kissed my sweaty hair and temple and rolled over, pulling me into his chest. I heard his breath level out and decided he had earned some sleep. That may have been the fuck of my life and he had given me some amazing ones before.

The sun was still up and I was in the wet spot. I was the wet spot, since Harry had decided to mark me. I was thankful there was an en suite, and I was starved. I went into the bathroom and rinsed off, though it was with regret, because I wouldn't have his sweat on me anymore. I smelled him in my hair but knew I had to wash it. It was a mess before his hands had found it. I had to suppress a little scream, because when the water hit my body and I felt the little marks on my body and realized that Harry wad in a bed very close to me naked and had told me he loved me I was overcome with gratitude and leftover frissons of pleasure had me smiling like a loon at the shower wall. I sniffed his shampoo and body wash before using them and figured they would do as a replacement. They didn't smell like my Harry, but they were Harry enough. I wrapped my hair in a towel and threw on his robe hooked over the door.

I didn't want to wake him, but I was starved, and I was not brave enough to fish out his clothes to wear and face the men who probably knew too much about me, mostly unfavorable. He may have been here on a lads holiday, but my inclination was that he was here working on album two. So, those guys knew me too well, without knowing me at all, for my comfort. Maybe my ego a little too.

I sat at the bedside and looked at Harry, his hair had dried extra fluffy and was a riot of curls from my hands when we were kissing. His mouth was gaping a little bit and whereas in the past I'd probably have stuck a finger in there to startle him awake, I decided to test my luck, like winding up my arm at a fair to knock down stacked bottles after already winning a huge stuffy. I leaned down and kissed his pouty lips and stroked his hair.

"Harry," I whispered. "Baby? Can you wake up?"

He blinked his eyes open and looked a little bit like Bambi. His eyes narrowed for a minute in confusion before he said, "Melly?"

"Hi baby, I hate to wake you, but I'm feeling a little self conscious and I'm starving. Feed me?" And I pouted a little.

He dimpled but his edges were all blurred, and he reached up for me and pulled me down.

"Hmmm, Yeah, I can do that. Cuddle me a minute first?" And he rolled over to position me as big spoon. He was still the most endearing imp I'd ever met. I could also feel he was gonna go to sleep on me.

"Hey, sleepyhead, I'm sorry but I'm really hungry babe, the bus took almost four hours and I left straight from school." I explained.

His interest must have been peaked, because he rolled over. "You're still at the school, then?"

I smiled into his shoulder, because that made me sure that he had read our book, a couple times as that was a last minute detail. Or his mom told him. "Yeah, it's fun, and it gives me time to surf and write."

His eyebrows really flashed then. "What're you writing now?"

He smoothed a hair behind my ear and I was about to tell him all about Wanda's wifedom but my stomach made a crazy noise and he burst into laughter.

"You weren't kidding! Your stomach sounds willing to digest me," he snorted.

"You do look right tasty!" I said and nipped his shoulder.

"Come on then, let's find you some tea." And he hoisted his naked self up and me with him. He was rummaging through drawers while I picked up my soaked dress and was figuring out how to ask when a shirt and boxers hit my face.

"Thanks!" I smiled and my heart stopped when I realized what the shirt he had given me. It was the Rush shirt I had first slept with him in. "Harry?" I asked, my heart in my teeth.

He came to me and wiped under my eyes, "Later, let's eat." And I slipped on the memory and the shorts and we scooted down the hallway to find an empty galley style kitchen. Harry pulled a mango out and started cutting, handing me pieces as he went. I basically ate the whole fruit off the knife. He smiled at me fondly, and pulled some prawns from the ice box and a green vegetable. He sautéed them together and handed me a serving. Getting two forks for us to share the plate. We ate, me sitting on the countertop and Harry standing between my legs.

I flushed everything down with the water he poured us to share and smiled at him, sated. "That was delicious, H."

"Yeah, better?"

"Much!" I assured and hooked my legs over the back of his knees. He pressed his forehead to mine and pinched me lightly on my thigh.

I yelped.

"Just wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming again."

But it was like a dream. He took me back to his room and we only surfaced for food for a day or so. And the only reason we inhaled lungfuls of air then was because Harry had made arrangements.

"But I don't have anything with me. I don't even have a bathing suit!" I complained as he packed things.

"That's fine, 'where we're going you don't need any clothes.'" And he laughed his head off at his bastardized back to the future quote.

"You aren't funny." I reminded him and he turned to me and tackled me down to the white bed and tickled me until I lied and told him he was.

I really did need clothes though, at least a bathing suit, and toiletries. My needs had gotten pretty basic since I moved to Jamaica, food, shelter, a bathing suit, some dresses, thongs, cellphone, my journal, and occasional access to a surfboard, but he was insistent I didn't need anything but him.

We both knew that wasn't true. I wanted him and he wanted me. But we both needed other things and people as well, and we needed to talk.

Maybe that was why Harry insisted that we be alone for a bit. So here I was at another beachfront hut in Jamaica. This one was much posher than the others and had an amazing view of the ocean on a large wraparound porch. I was watching the sun rise when I'd had trouble falling asleep. I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to be awake and feel the twinges of use Harry had left me, sore thighs from holding them up and tender between them when I sat on hard surfaces, and tangled hair left down to cover little red patches and bite marks.

He was also looking worse for wear. But he seemed to have no trouble sleeping. But, as Anne had told me, he had always been a excellent sleeper. I was thinking about how we should do it this time when a steaming mug was sat at my elbow, and an arm came around my middle, and Harry hooked his chin over my own. He smelled like me, us, and high thread count sheets, and home.

"So, what are you worrying about out here?"

"We need to talk H."

"So, let's talk Angel."

And we did. Mostly about going forward. We left the old bones buried because we had already dragged them out and beat each other with them.

After coffee, we lay in a hammock for most of the breezy morning and planned.

"What did you think of it, H? Our book?" I was biting my lip in anticipation. He'd given me a little idea, but we still hadn't actually talked about it.

He looked at me with his eyebrows close together and forehead wrinkled up. "I think that your interpretation of us was better than mine. Beautiful and I know you said you aren't a poet, but it was lyrical love, and an amazing apology. A really grand movement. Inspiring. I was just writing through my feelings, before I could come to you. He kissed my cheek.

"What are your feelings?" I got brave enough to ask, looking back at him to watch his eyes.

"My feelings are as they ever were. I love you, the way you compliment me in so many ways. I want you to stay with me, and talk to me and never run. Not again. About killed me last time, and the thought of you with somebody else, ever again." At that he didn't use words, but the tight cinch he had on my waist and the tension rolling off him meant he didn't need them.

  "I won't run, H. Learnt that lesson." I turned in his arms and looked at him. "Besides no running, what do you need from me?"

"I need for you to tell me what's going on in your head, Melody. Like, I don't think I can wait for you to write a book every time. Though, it was lovely to read about how much you wanted me. I should have stole your journal in those early days. Would have saved us some time." He tickled my side carefully, to lighten the moment I would guess.

"Nope, you were to busy being afraid of Michael. And I should have stolen yours. Was there anything about me in it?" I turned in to him a bit and looked up at him, both my eyebrows up.

"Yeah, loads. Told you I had a massive crush."

"Maybe now we should just exchange journals?" I proposed and his face flashed like a camera with excitement.

"That's an idea. Like, if there is something we can't say! We give the other the journal—"

"But we can't read without asking, yeah?"

"Deal," and he shook my hand then raised it up to kiss it to seal it.

"But that only works when we are physically together, H. What about the rest of the time?" I craned my neck to watch his face fall into a small frown.

"I think that should be less of a problem now. You're gonna go with me."

"Um, you may want to ask me things before you assume!" But I knew I was going to go with him. I could write anywhere. And I'd learned the value of being near him.

He turned to me then, and at first he looked unsure before he caught my Cheshire grin, "Melody," he said solemnly and though we were in salty gear from our surf competition that morning, in felt like I should be in something more formal for the occasion. "Will you please promise to be with me, always, and everywhere, to take care of me when I'm sick and whiny, and not to hide from me, ever, no matter how messy you feel, not to it lie to me and to never, ever, run?"

My eyes wet at his requests. I noticed he didn't ask me to love him, I think we both knew that feeling was never our problem. "I promise," I said and was ready to slice my hand and press it to his to make the bond ancient and unbreakable.

I was quiet for a moment to get myself together and think. He let me be while he played with my hair, straw like where the water had given it texture.

"Harry, will you promise to tell me things first, especially the best and worst things. Before you tell anybody else. To let me see you face," I poked his dimple to illustrate this, "Everyday, no matter what, and to show up for me, even when I can't ask for it. And to ask for words when I'm not giving them." We hadn't talked much about how much it hurt me that he never came when I was helping my mum through breast cancer. But having buried Robin, we both knew he knew now.

"I promise, Melody."

Our vows today are based on these lines we spoke together in Jamaica, full of the knowledge that comes from hurting the person you love most deeply and a strong desire to get better.

We got better, and as he gazed at me in his mum's back garden I knew I'd meet him anywhere, and do it all again, to get here. Nothing else would do.

Hallways are meant to lead you to a destination.

Here's ours.