Page 52 of Write Me For You

JUNE

Jesse and June’s Happily Ever After

T he rush of at least ten pairs of feet padded through the house, and the smell of barbeque sailed into the kitchen from the backyard.

Laughs and screams could be heard as the sun blazed brightly in the sky. I dusted my hands off on my apron and took two glasses of sweet tea out onto the porch.

Jesse was already there, waiting for me. “You beat me to it,” I said, and sat down beside him on our old, cherished porch swing.

As soon as I handed him his drink, he set it beside him and held my hand. He raised our joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to mine. I cuddled in beside him as he used his foot to push us back and forth.

I laughed as our youngest grandson sprayed his daddy, our son, with a water gun. Jesse chuckled, then pressed a kiss to my head. And as I looked out onto the garden, our home full of love and happiness, I then glanced up to my husband.

Our faces were heavily lined with wrinkles, our hair was thinning and gray, and our laughter lines…they were my favorite. They were deep and long and boasted of a life filled with fun and joy.

“You’re still beautiful,” I told Jesse.

He turned to me with a cheeky smirk. “Junebug, are you flirting with me?”

“Always,” I said, and my husband kissed me on my lips.

I laid my head on his shoulder and basked in the peace that was this life.

We had lived a full and happy life, Jesse as a football coach and artist, and me as a writer.

After his two battles with cancer, Jesse’s body wasn’t as strong as it once had been.

The NFL had no longer been in his future.

But he loved coaching more than he’d ever loved playing.

We had moved to my hometown, where he became a high school football coach—an amazing one at that.

And with his local gallery showings of his art alongside his coaching career, Jesse never wanted for anything else.

I still wrote, the passion within me never wavering. And every love story I put to paper was somehow inspired by my own. We got our little life. But our greatest achievement played out before us now. One boy and one girl of our own, and a whole load of grandkids.

“I’ve loved our life,” I said to Jesse, a smile in my voice.

“I’ve loved our life too,” he said, and placed his finger under my chin. Then he kissed me again—he kissed me like he had in all our many years together. He kissed me like we were still seventeen and we had just met our soul’s other half.

Jesse squeezed my hand that was still in his. With his free hand he raised his fist and said, “Group two has won, Junebug.”

I raised my fist and bumped it to his. “Group two has won.”

Because we had. We had lived, we had thrived, we had loved, and we absolutely, positively had won.

The End