I Jinxed Myself

One of my favorite things to do first thing in the morning is to open Facebook and look over my memories. It’s a nice way to remember all of the wacky shenanigans I’ve gotten into over the years.

On Wednesday, I was reminded that it was the tenth anniversary of the most epic Thanksgiving I’ve ever had: the time I mistook my finger for a potato. I reread the story and the Facebook posts. I cringed a bit when I looked at the photos. Overall, though, it gave me a good laugh. I don’t do as much cooking at Thanksgiving since Jeff and I got together. Usually, when we go to his family’s house, his mom does the cooking. When we stay home, Jeff does most of the cooking – I am responsible only for sweet potatoes and pies (the good stuff). As a result, the odds of Thanksgiving disasters are quite low.

Of course, this was Thanksgiving eve, and I offered to make dinner. It was the perfect time for Murphy’s law to enter into my life and turn our kitchen into a bloodbath.

So, as I said, I offered to cook dinner. Nothing fancy, just a vegetable soup. But before starting to cut the vegetables, I told Jeff I was a little nervous because I was using the fancy knife set we got for our wedding, which is very, very, very sharp. Actually, I need to add like six more verys to that sentence. I cut myself last week – nothing serious, just nicked my index finger one night – so I knew what I was talking about.

But I wasn’t going to let a little fear hold me back. I grabbed the onion, sliced it in half and prepared to dice it. I thought I’d use a trick I’ve seen countless TV chefs use, where they slice the onion in half horizontally to dice the onion. And that’s when things went wrong.

I laid my hand flat on top of the onion and started to slice it, but the knife got stuck. And I’m sure you know where this is going. Smart Mindy would have stopped there. But I was not Smart Mindy. I was Idiot Mindy and I just kept trying to shove that knife through that onion. And as a result, I shoved that knife right through my palm.

As is standard anytime I hurt myself, I started saying, “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap….”

Jeff responded immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked coming into the kitchen.

“I cut myself,” I said, turning to the sink to rinse out my furiously bleeding wound. “Pretty badly.”

“Do you need stitches?”

Having assessed the wound before I shoved my hand under the sink, I knew that, while being quite a big gash, it was not super deep. Stitches wouldn’t help. “No.”

So, Jeff ran and got me a towel to hold against my hand. He also raided the closet where I keep my bandaids (I say mine because I’m the person who uses them regularly), grabbing gauze and extra large bandaids, as well as Neosporin. Then, he helped me wrap up my hand. But it was then that I learned something very important about my husband that I had never before experienced in our eight years together: Jeff does not do well with blood. Especially when it’s gushing out of a one-inch by half-inch slash across his wife’s palm. But he helped me, and that’s what matters. I love him so much for that.

With that, my time in the kitchen came to a close. Jeff banished me to the living room so he could finish making dinner without any further bloodshed. And as I walked away he said something very important: “Maybe you shouldn’t cook on this date anymore.”

Maybe I shouldn’t.

Tales From a Procrastinator

Guys, gals and nonbinary pals, let me tell you a tale. There once was a procrastinator named Mindy who had to interview 4 people and then write 4 2-page papers about the people I interviewed. It was, by far, one of the easiest assignments of my Master’s program. But by the day those 4 papers were due, this little procrastinator still hadn’t written a single paper. Hoping against hope that I could miraculously write 4 papers in 3 hours, I hid in an office and started writing. But less than an hour later, the professor called and cancelled class.

Now, a smart person would have used that grace period to finish those papers. But did I?

Cut to one week later, and I am in the exact same boat. But this time I show up to that 7 pm class with no papers completed. And do you know what happened? The teacher didn’t show up. We actually got to take advantage of the whole 30-minute no-show rule.

You read that right. For two weeks in a row, I got lucky.

And if that wasn’t enough, the next week was spring break, followed by a week where the professor was out for a conference. In other words, for an entire month, I slacked off on 4 easy-peasy papers and got away with it. But I knew my good luck had an expiration date, so I finally buckled down and finished those papers before the next class session. But y’all, I have never been luckier (and lazier) in my life.

It’s Been a While…

I would love to say that my writing hiatus has some incredible cause, like I’ve been off trying to find a vaccine for COVID or I’ve been shacked up in some remote cabin writing my next novel, but let’s be real here, I’ve done none of those things.

That’s not to say I haven’t been busy, but the reason why you haven’t heard from me in nearly a year is this perfectly balanced state of depression (which is vastly improved), dissertation drama, and what I like to refer to as COVID malaise. In other words, I’ve been trying my hardest with what I have at hand.

So, how are things? Good, I hope.

Like I said, I’ve done a few things. Most important, I conducted research on my dissertation (though not on my original subjects), and then I wrote up that bad boy. It’s currently sitting in the hands of my dissertation chair, and I’m surprisingly not freaking out about that. Probably because I spent far too much time freaking out while writing it. Plus, I’ve gotta reserve some of my freaking out for my defense.

In other good news, I’ve battled the beast that is depression and came out on top. One year ago, I could barely function, but here I am holding my own. It helps having an awesome therapist to work through things with.

Also, I recently dipped my toes back into podcasting. Boy, did I miss it. I recently joined my friends on an episode of Surviving Chick Flicks to talk Sleepaway Camp, and later this week, we’ll return to talk one of my favorites, Scream. I had such a fun time that I’m seriously considering bringing back “Let’s Scare Mindy” or starting a fiction podcast. Just gotta get through my defense first.

Finally, I’m looking forward to two things. First, I finally finished going through Last Breath with my critique group, so now it’s time to turn that bad boy into a polished gem and then start querying again. I’m actually feeling pretty good about querying, as the last time I did, I got a full manuscript request, which is huge. That’s my goal for the next few weeks.

Of course, I have one other goal. This year, I’m going to try my hand at NaNoWriMo again. Last year, I got pretty far – having written 39,000 words (although I haven’t touched that book since then because I’ve been so focused on fixing up Last Breath). This year, I’m going to move away from the world of Kath and Smith and write a romantic suspense novel set in the one place I know well: a college. I’m excited for Sunday to come along, because I’m ready to start writing.

So that’s where I am. Like I said, I’m in a far better place than where I was last year. I miss doing things like going to concerts, staying in haunted hotels, and visiting friends and family, but I’m grateful for what I do have. But now this is getting sappy, so I’m going to wrap this up.

Have a spooky, socially distanced Halloween!

This Is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things

If you know anything about me, you know that I am a bit accident prone. I mean, I have my own day of the week – Minday – to refer to those Murphy’s Law kind of days. And boy oh boy did I have one heck of a Minday last week. And because I know you all have a mad case of Schadenfreude, I’m going to share with you my wee tale of woe.

Once upon a time (also known as last Wednesday), I took the day off work with the goal of finishing my dissertation. I just needed to finish writing my reflection and then format the document, and I would be D.U.N. done. It was an easy goal, and one thing that would make the work all the sweeter would be the nice new pair of AirPods I had just bought during Amazon Prime Days.

Let me just say that, being the Apple nerd I am, the AirPods were a thing of beauty. And I got them for a steal. As soon as they were delivered, I unboxed them and immediately set about streaming music through them. What better way to pass the time as I wrote.

Of course, writing wasn’t my only goal for my day off. I had also promised Jeff I would bake a pie. We had some apples that were nearing the end of their life cycle, and I didn’t want them to go to waste. So, at some point during the afternoon, I’d take a break from writing to bake the pie, then get right back to work.

I wrote my heart out for a good hour, rocking out to some music as i worked. Finally, it was break time. I couldn’t help but be excited. Due to my doctoral program, I haven’t done as much cooking and baking as I would like, so here was my chance to relieve a little stress as I neared the end of all of this hard work.

Leaving my headphones in, I headed to the kitchen and set to work, peeling and slicing the apples. I danced a bit as I added brown sugar and lemon and spices to the chopped apples. When it came time to focus on the crust, I sang along as I worked. I was clearly in my own little world.

Which is why I didn’t expect anything to go wrong.

Which is why I never expect anything to go wrong.

The apples were wrapped, all snug in the crusts, while visions of desserts to come danced in my head. I opened the 375-degree oven and leaned down to slide the pie in. Before I could straighten up, it happened.

I’m sure you know what happened. I don’t need to tell you that the right AirPod popped out of my ear and fell directly into the oven. I don’t need to tell you that I ripped off the other one and threw it to safety, while yelling, “OH NO!” repeatedly and grabbing a set of tongs. I don’t even need to tell you that I used those tongs to try my damndest to grab the AirPod out of the far corner of the oven where it came to rest. I don’t need to tell you these things because you knew exactly what kind of a day I was having. A Minday.

Hearing my cries, Jeff came running into the kitchen, asking what was wrong. He found me halfway in the oven, burning myself on the shelves as I grabbed for the AirPod with my tongs. I managed to move the AirPod to the front of the oven before Jeff took the tongs from my burnt hand and grabbed the earbud for me with no problem. 

I appreciated Jeff’s help, because by the time he grabbed the AirPod, I had a whopping 6 first- and second-degree burns on my hand and forearm. I wasn’t about to let $115 melt down in my oven.

The AirPod? A little melted, but it works just fine. 

But seriously, this is why I can’t have nice things.

Goodbye, November

A lot has happened over the past month. The most important part, though, is that I’ve been actively fighting my gray friend on multiple fronts. I’ve started therapy with a really good therapist, and I’ve also started medication, although I haven’t noticed any changes on that front (it’s only been a week since I’ve started them, though).

My therapist is pushing me to get out of my cocoon and try new things. She noticed how much I light up when I talk about my books, and at her prompting, I’m going to join a writing group. I’ve been wanting to find a writing group for some time, but all the groups I’ve reached to were either full or never got back to me. I think I’ve finally found one that might work, so cross your fingers for me.

Another big thing that happened this month is that I finally started my research on my dissertation. Step 3 is finally underway. I observed my event. Now, I just need to get some students to volunteer to be interviewed and then do some document analysis of their story prompts. My goal is to have all of those pieces done by the time we go on winter break so that I can start step 4 (writing my dissertation) during break. Here’s to hoping everything goes my way, because so far, not everything has.

Finally, the other thing that happened this month is that I took a serious stab at NaNoWriMo. I tried it once before and gave up about a week in. This year, though, I wrote pretty consistently until the week before Thanksgiving when I had a pretty nasty work week (doing my dissertation observation and hosting several big events). While I lost my daily writing streak, I still managed to end the month having written 34,461 out of 50,000 words. In other words, I’ve got the first third of book three out of the way. Not too bad, if I say so, especially since writing that same number of words for book two probably took me about three months.

November hasn’t been the easiest month, but I’m grateful that things are getting better for me. I’d love it if I could banish my gray friend by the time New Year’s rolled around, and while I know that’s not realistic, I’m just glad for every positive step I’m taking toward better mental health in the meantime. Plus, other things are going well. I’m making progress toward my doctorate, book three, and improving my writing. That’s definitely something.

Confession Time

It’s time I got something off my shoulders.

This year, I’ve been battling my old friend depression. I’ve been pretty open about the fact that I have faced depression since I was a teenager. It’s not something I love, but it’s something I’ve come to accept about myself.

Usually, I hit dips. Short periods in which things are harder to deal with, but I have functional depression. Basically, I force on a smile and fake my way through things. Part of my medication routine for my migraines is an antidepressant, so it helped me out of those dips whenever I hit them.

But not this year.

This year, the dip got deeper. I found it harder and harder to force on the smile. Once, it was so bad that I didn’t talk for two days. Me, the girl nicknamed Motormouth Mindy. I didn’t speak for two entire days.

Getting out of bed became harder. In the past, I could get out of bed at 6:30 a.m., so I could be showered and ready to go by the time Jeff got up at 7. I’d then use the next hour to focus on writing. By the time I left for work, I’d feel proud of how productive I had been, having written a chunk of my next chapter.

Lately, I roll out of bed at 7:50, right after Jeff gets out of the shower. I have exactly 20 minutes to shower and get ready before I have to rush out the door to work. I tell myself that the extra hour of sleep will help me feel more refreshed, but in all honesty, I crawl out of bed feeling more exhausted than I did the night before when I bundled myself under the blankets.

It doesn’t matter whether I sleep for 7 for 12 hours. I still wake up exhausted. Dark circles have taken up permanent roost under my eyes. My shoulders ache, and I feel like nothing I do will ease the exhaustion that I feel.

Even food has lost its luster. I eat because I have to, but not because it tastes good. In the past, when Jeff would ask what I wanted for dinner, I’d say I don’t know because so much was tempting. Now, I say I don’t know because nothing sounds good.

I’m slowly losing the functional part of my depression. I know it. I need help. Don’t worry, I know that, too. I finally gathered the courage to ask for help, because I realized that the antidepressants weren’t enough anymore.

So, why am I writing this? Because I need to acknowledge what you all have likely been seeing for some time. On Facebook, I’ve posted memes that absolutely were cries for help. Between Facebook and Twitter, you’ve seen me down in the dumps due to a string of rejections from agents. Honestly, outside of the pictures of Bitteh and Nevaeh that I post, I don’t know that I’ve posted all that much that could be considered positive for longer than I can remember. I could be wrong, but it doesn’t feel that way.

This is my way of holding myself accountable. If I post this, I have to go see that counselor later this week. That way, when people ask me how I’m doing, I have a genuine answer I can give them, instead of a half-hearted shrug. Also, I’m posting this because I need to get better. I’m sick of crying. I’m sick of the exhaustion. I’m sick of not being me.

Happy Anniversary

This weekend, Jeff and I celebrated our first anniversary. It was a weekend filled with ghosts, getaways, and more melted cheese than you can shake a stick at. In other words, it was a great weekend.

On Saturday morning, Jeff told me that he found a cool bed and breakfast in downtown Denver called Castle Marne. He was excited that the room had a private hot tub. I was excited that it was likely haunted. We booked a last-minute trip, and honestly, it was worth it.

Castle Marne was gorgeous. The bed was probably the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in, and the breakfast this morning was absolutely delicious. Also, it was within walking distance of Tattered Cover, Twist & Shout Records, and Voodoo Donuts, all places we popped into last night.

As we checked in, I wondered whether the castle was haunted, but I didn’t go out of my way to look up any stories. If it was, I didn’t want to influence any experiences I might have. Not long after I fell asleep, I had a dream that something cold brushed against me, but I knew it wasn’t the air conditioning, because it came from the opposite side of the room. I slapped away whatever it was. Of course, in reality, I was slapping Jeff.

Was it a ghost? Probably not, but we did learn that the hotel does have a young girl haunting it.

Wrapping up our weekend, Jeff and I decided to try out The Melting Pot for the first time. Of course, we chose it because it, too, was haunted. I am so full of cheese and meat and chocolate. It was amazing.

It’s funny. As Jeff and I do things, I will often think of the main characters of my novels, wondering how they would react in the same situations. As Jeff and I were eating our first course, I thought of Kath and Smith at The Melting Pot. As the waiter warned us not to eat directly from our fondue forks, I thought of Smith giving Kath the following warning:

“Katharine Elizabeth Smith, if you eat directly from the fondue fork, so help me, I will divorce you.”

Because she would definitely try it.

What’s Going On…

Y’all, I would just like to start by saying that I’m exhausted. Like seriously exhausted. Like I could sleep for a month and probably still wake up tired. But such is life.

So, it’s been a while since my last post, and quite a bit has happened.

On the school front, as of today, I am officially a doctoral candidate. Three more steps, and then I will have officially finished the hardest thing I’ve done so far. Just have to do research, write my dissertation, and then defend it. The goal is to have all research done by the time the fall semester ends, write the dissertation over Christmas break, and then defend sometime in March. You know, nothing big.

In my personal life, I’ve had some ups and downs. Starting with the downs, as I’ve said, I’m exhausted. Of course, I know the cause. I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride with depression over the past year or so, and I know now that it has firmly taken hold. I’m on an antidepressant, but I think it’s time to call in the big guns and see someone professionally. Just until things stop seeming so difficult. Because right now, pretty much everything seems difficult.

Luckily, that’s the worst of it. In the past month and a half, I’ve had some really good things happen to me. First and foremost, I finished the first draft of The New Year’s Eve Murders. It took me just over eight months, but I can say that I have now written two novels. And if I’m lucky, someone will want to publish them.

I’m currently working on my second draft of the novel, but it feels weird not to be writing constantly. Fortunately, I’ve started fleshing out the third book in the series. My hope is to start writing in November. While I won’t be participating in NaNoWriMo, I’m going to hold myself to the practice of writing every day.

In other book news, I’m still shopping Last Breath to agents. I’ve got a full request out with someone, and I’ve sent a few other queries. But even if those don’t pan out, I have plenty more agents to reach out to. Send some good thoughts my way, though.

The only other news is that I’ve officially said goodbye to my thirties. And while my birthday was a little bittersweet, I have to be proud of all that I managed to accomplish over the past decade. I finished my master’s, started my doctorate, wrote two novels, met a swell guy, got married, moved to the mountains. Not too shabby of a time, if I say so myself.

As I start this new decade, I’m going to keep working my butt off. I’m going to continue writing and trying to publish. I’ll wrap up this doctorate. Who knows what else I’ll manage to pull off in the next ten years. I’m sure I’ll post about it here, though.

Standing on the Ledge

Today marks the final day of class in my doctoral program. Nothing exciting. I just had to write a five- to seven-page reflection about my study abroad trip.

As I stated previously, the trip was powerful. I had an opportunity to experience a side of Nayarit and the surrounding community that I would never have otherwise seen thanks to Human Connections. And Northern Illinois University.

Looking back on it, this study abroad taught me so much more than my trip to London back in 2001 did. I think the most important thing I learned was the importance of cultural humility, which is the idea that we do not know everything and that we need to be aware of our own position in power balances so that we can navigate situations without hurting others. Honestly, I think that this can help me be a better leader in my work with students, because it reminds me that I can learn so much from others and leverage my privilege to help those who do not have as much as I do.

Even though it meant I had a longer summer semester than my cohort, I am grateful I took advantage of this opportunity. But now that it’s done, I’m in this strange place. On one hand, all that stands between me and graduation is my dissertation. On the other hand, ALL THAT STANDS BETWEEN ME AND GRADUATION IS MY DISSER-FRICKEN-TATION.

So, what does that mean?

Well, between now and Aug. 16, I have to revise my research proposal and get it back to my dissertation chair. Once she’s good with it, I have to defend my proposal to my dissertation committee. That’s not at all terrifying.

But once my committee says, Yeah, that sounds like a good project. You seem to know what you’re doing, I actually have to conduct my research. No big deal. (For the record, I’m stress eating M&Ms as I write this.)

Then, once the research is done, I have to write my dissertation. Honestly, I think that’s going to be the easiest part of all of this. But I have to do so much before I get there.

And then once that’s done, I have to defend my dissertation. No big whoop.

My goal is to defend the dissertation by September, conduct the research by the end of November, write everything over winter break, do revisions through January and February, and then defend in March. In short, this next year is probably going to be insane.

But when all is said and done, I’ll be Dr. Kinnaman, which has a nice ring to it.


Two weeks ago, I climbed on a plane for my study abroad program. Now, I hate flying. I have a terrible fear of heights, and planes bring out the worst of it. That, alone, wouldn’t have been such a big deal, because books, music, and podcasts tend to help calm me down, but pretty much the entire way from Salt Lake City to Puerto Vallarta, we experienced turbulence.

With turbulence, I always worry that something’s going to go terribly wrong, and the plane will just drop from the sky. And as some snarky person once said, it’s not the fall that will kill you; it’s the sudden stop. So, I needed a distraction. I read an entire book, but that wasn’t quite enough to ease my panic.

I had been using my phone to jot notes on my novel when the idea hit. Kath, my main character, has a lot of my fears – the dark, clowns, lakes. It made sense that, along with those other fears, she would be afraid of flying. And that’s when I got the idea for the short story below. I wrote this over the course of my trip, wrapping it up on the flight back to Denver.

What’s different from the other Kath / Smith short story I posted is that this is more in line with the voice in my novels. The bulk of each book features Kath’s first-person perspective, and the remaining chapters are third-person, typically from Smith’s point of view. This story takes place about two months before the first novel, Last Breath.  Enjoy!



“Hey, it’s okay.”

As Smith spoke, he laid his hand upon mine. I would have given him my own to hold, but I was too busy clutching the armrests.

I hated flying, but I was willing to put my fears aside as best I could for Smith. Plus, it helped that he was beside me offering comfort. If I were doing this alone, they probably would have kicked me off the plane before we even left the airport.

The plane hit another pocket of air and bounced. Squeezing my eyes shut, I sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for us to drop out of the sky. Beside me, Smith leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “It’s okay, I promise.”

At the sound of his voice, I exhaled but kept my eyes shut. Smith had explained how turbulence worked to me time after time, but it never helped in the moment. Even pointing out the calm demeanor of the flight attendants walking through the cabins serving drinks and dinner failed to help.

I just wanted to be safe on land. If there was an easier way for us to get to London, I’d have taken it, but this was our only choice. Well, besides taking a boat, and I’ve seen The Poseidon Adventure, Titanic, and Jaws too many times to be okay with that. Plus, it would have added so much more time to our vacation.

For as much as I hated flying, I loved visiting London. This would be our fourth trip, a surprise birthday present from Smith. We had never visited in the spring, so I was excited. I just had to get through the next six hours of this overnight flight without panicking.

The plane smoothed out, and I felt comfortable opening my eyes. Looking at Smith, I tried but failed to muster a smile. His dark chocolate eyes reflected concern. I gave him my hand, but I couldn’t help but squeeze it tight.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t apologize,” Smith said. “Would it help for me to distract you?”

I wasn’t sure how he could, but I was willing to let him try. “Yes.”

All around us, people slept or gave their attention to electronics. Smith leaned in close, his beautiful eyes studying my face. When he spoke, he kept his voice low.

“Remember our honeymoon?”

How could I forget it? It was the perfect conclusion to the most incredible day of my life, the day that Smith surprised me with a wedding. Keeping the surprises coming, he had planned a month-long journey: two weeks in Australia followed by two in New Zealand.

“I wanted to take you somewhere beautiful and warm. That winter had been so cold and miserable, and you complained more than normal about the snow. Plus, I needed to do something big to make up for being so distant in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

“I worried about you, though. Flying there meant a long trip that would cause you so much stress. I didn’t want you to worry, but I had no clue how to make that happen.”

I smiled. “Worrying is what I do best.”

Smith’s lips drew back into his crooked smile that I loved so much. I wanted to kiss him and lose myself in the one thing that I knew could bring me peace, at least for a little while. But we were surrounded by people, and even though no one paid any attention to us, I knew it would cross our PDA boundary.

“I wanted to give you memories that lasted a lifetime. We just had to get you there first. When I told you where we were going, I saw equal parts excitement and fear in your eyes. You wanted to go so bad, but you knew that it meant a very long flight.”

“I asked you to drug me somehow so I could sleep through the whole thing and just wake up there,” I said. “I could never sleep naturally on a plane. There are too many many things that could go wrong.

“I wish someone would just invent teleportation. Of course, that has its own set of problems that I would worry about.”

“You’re such a goof,” Smith said with a smirk.

“But you love me,” I replied.

It was an old endearment between the two of us, one we started not long after Smith first told me he loved me. Like his kiss and the soft timber of his voice, it comforted me. I didn’t feel entirely at ease, but I felt a lot better.

Smith wrapped his other hand around the back of mine, and I did the same to his with my free hand. 

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve been wondering how much force it would take for me to accidentally rip off the armrest. And whether that would that get me arrested by the Air Marshal.”

Chuckling, Smith said, “They’d probably just fine you and ban you for life.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take then.” I stuck my tongue out at Smith.

His plan was working. Despite the occasional rumble of turbulence, I felt more at ease. Damn that sexy son of a bitch.

“The plane ride to Sydney was rough,” he continued. “One of the worst I’ve ever experienced. I was so worried about you, but you were so brave. Yes, you were scared, but you never once cried.”

“I yelped when the plane dropped, though.”

“You did, but so did other people. Even the flight attendants seemed scared. But as quickly as the turbulence began, it was over, and the rest of the flight was fine.

“I can’t say how long this will last, but right now, it’s just little bumps. Even if it gets worse, we’ll still be okay, I promise.”

I smiled. “I thought you were going to distract me.”

Once again, Smith chuckled. God, I loved that sound.

“I’m getting there,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. His face turned serious. “I would give you everything in this world if I could. When you’re happy, I’m happy. I never want you to feel unloved or that you’re not important, because you are the only person in the world I would give up everything for. Whenever you cry, I am genuinely hurt, because I feel like I’ve let you down.”

“You could never let me down,” I said. “Even when we fight, I know it’s just our emotions getting the best of us.”

Smith nodded, his face still somber. “Every time we fight, it rips my heart to pieces. We never mean it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I only want you to be happy, and I know that I’m not always able to do that, especially when I act selfish. But that’s why I go overboard making things up to you afterward. I don’t just want you to be happy, I need you to be happy.

I wanted to pull Smith’s hand to my lips, to kiss it and clasp it against my cheek. Instead, I said, “Even when we fight, I never think that you want to hurt or punish me. We just sometimes let our emotions get the better of us. Whenever we do, I just want us to get back to normal as quickly as possible so we can go back to being happy.”

“Me, too. When you’re happy, you glow. Everyone around you is impacted. I’ve seen even the most dour people start to smile when you’re there.

“And you make me feel like I am the only man alive. I don’t know if you realize it, but you have smiles that you only show to me.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Really. You have a shy grin where you suck in the left side of your mouth. In the morning, you have this soft, sleepy smile. But my favorite is the smile you give me whenever I kiss you. It’s big and bright and absolutely beautiful. Even the one you’re giving me right now is special.”

Smith pulled his eyes away and glanced down at our hands. When he looked back at me, his eyes glimmered in the dim light. “I sometimes struggle to wrap my head around the fact that I found someone who loves me unconditionally, someone who I’d fight for in order to keep safe, someone who makes me feel like the most important man in the world. 

“In the beginning, I couldn’t understand why you wanted anything to do with me. I nearly got you arrested and expelled, but every day, when I stopped by your room to pick you up, you were not only there, but you were so happy to see me. You’re still happy to see me, even after all these years.”

“And I’ll never stop,” I whispered, letting my fingers dance across the back of his hand.

“Our honeymoon was special because it meant a month of adventures. I loved exploring with you. You’re the perfect partner because you have this deep curiosity, and everything fills you with awe. That’s another one of your special smiles, by the way.”

Exploring the world with my best friend is one of my favorite activities. It doesn’t matter whether we’re on another continent or one town over, being with Smith has meant that I’ve done things I never would have otherwise. From the day that he and I went off in search of the bomb that never existed, I have never been happier. With any luck, we’d get to spend the next fifty years chasing adventure together.

“But as much as we explored, we also spent so much time alone with one another. I’ll be honest, I loved that even more. The beach house in New Zealand was my favorite. We were all by ourselves in the middle of nowhere, and some days, we never left the bed. Other days, we did, but we didn’t venture very far.”

My face reddened and my stomach did barrel rolls thinking of those wonderful days. Smith noticed and brushed his fingers against my cheek. His skin sent electricity through my body. How much longer until we arrived in London?

“We should go back to that beach house some winter,” I whispered, my voice suddenly hoarse.

Smith winked, and my stomach fluttered once again. 

“I think we can make that happen,” he said.

A few minutes ticked past as Smith and I stared at one another. I wished we were alone, because I wanted so badly to curl up in his arms and feel the energy from his body pouring into mine. It wasn’t until I met Smith that I understood what need was. I needed his touch, his words, his love. Without it, I felt incomplete. Smith truly was my soulmate.

“How do you feel?” Smith asked at last.

“Better,” I said. “I’d kiss you if I could.”

Smith gave me his crooked grin, and before I realized what was happening, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine. The acrobats in my stomach went wild, and goosebumps raced across my skin. I cupped Smith’s cheek in my left hand and disappeared in that perfect moment. 

I had fallen in love with Smith nearly fifteen years earlier, and every day, I only loved him more. He knew exactly how to make me smile, to make me feel safe and loved. I wasn’t sure what I’d do without him, but I was glad I didn’t have to worry about that.

“Have I ever told you that you’re perfect?” I asked, leaning in for one more kiss.