“Honestly, Della.” He grabbed my bicep, yanking me into the aisle and away from the nosy sales keeper. “You always know how to get a rise out of me, don’t you?” His voice was brash with temper, but his eyes glowed like chocolate syrup.
Things with wings erupted in my heart as I stood on tiptoes just as Ren’s mouth crashed down on mine.
He kissed me so fierce and swift, I stumbled backward, directly into a shelf of penises with wind up legs that all bounced and whirred from the unwanted collision.
We broke apart, laughing as penis after miniature penis committed suicide off the shelf.
“You break it, you pay for it!” a voice yelled from the front of the store.
Ren and I only laughed harder.
Funny how memories like that—the ones that are so simple and stupid—are the ones that stick in your head with such clarity you can transport back to every smell, heartbeat, and yearning.
I want to share every detail, but I also want to rush and tell you what Ren bought for me and I bought for him. Because, honestly, they were two gifts that became our most treasured belongings. No mud, snow, dust, or grime could make us remove them. Even now, I still wear it. Even now, after so long.
“Ten minutes, Little Ribbon.” Ren kissed the tip of my nose. “And no peeking at where I go.”
“I have no idea what to get you, so I’ll be using those ten minutes wisely, not stalking you.”
“Good.”
“Fine.” I grinned. “See you at the cash register.”
“No, see you outside. Here.” Forcing a twenty-dollar bill into my hand, he kissed my cheek as if he couldn’t not kiss me whenever we were close. “Pay for what you find and meet me on the street.”
* * * * *
Sorry, I let memories take over and forgot to type.
Who knew writing about something so silly would be so utterly heart-breaking—not because it was sad but because it was so good?
So perfect.
So sweet.
I was so incredibly lucky, and I’m just glad I recognised just how lucky, rather than take Ren for granted.
The older I get, and the more I grow, I’m always struck by two things:
One, no matter my age, I always feel the same. No more adult than child or wise than stupid. I keep expecting myself to snap into a grown-up, but it’s never happened.
And two, nothing beat just hanging out with Ren.
Nothing.
No trip or gift or fancy new experience.
Nothing could beat just existing with the love of my life.
Remembering is almost bittersweet, but I suppose I better finish this particular chapter before I close my laptop and go in search of the very man I’m writing about.
I’ll skip over the mad rush through the carnival ride of junk and pointless figurines and
not bother to mention the adrenaline rush of finding such a random, childish, and exquisitely perfect gift that Ren would no doubt roll his eyes at and laugh in that affectionate, perfect way of his. The way that opened his entire face from suspicion and ruthlessness into a window of trust and devotion.
I couldn’t stand still as I waited for him on the curb and spun to face him when the junk store bell jingled.
In his hand rested a small, brown paper bag.
He gave me a half-smile. “This feels like a ridiculous idea now.”
“I think it’s the best idea you’ve had in a while.”
“You’re saying I lack good ideas, Della?” He narrowed his eyes, but behind his fake annoyance, laugher bubbled.
“Well, you have to admit the best idea we’ve ever had was sleeping together—and that was mine, so you’re welcome. You can thank me later, but right now, you’re handing over my present.”
“You’re saying all of this, our relationship, the fact that I told you to call me my wife, was your idea?” He put the shopping bags on the ground, delaying giving me the gift just like he had when he’d presented me with that tea-towel wrapped horse.
Delay tactics were Ren’s way of pretending he wasn’t nervous by covering it up with bluster and brawn.
“Yes, all mine. Been my idea for years.” Shooting my hand out, I held up my own paper bag. “Stop changing the subject and swap.”
He huffed dramatically, playing along with the familiar way we joked and ribbed. “I don’t know why I put up with you most of the time.”
“Too late now. You married me.”
His face lost its joviality, slipping straight into steely sternness. “Not yet I haven’t. But I’m working on it.”
My tummy let loose a torrent of floating balloons, filling my insides with helium.
“Here.” He passed me the gift, taking his in return. “It’s not much. But it’s a promise of more.”
I don’t mind telling you—mainly because you’ll have figured it out for yourself—but I wasn’t good at delayed gratification. I should’ve clutched that paper bag and paused in that moment. That delicious, perfect moment where the happiest future I could’ve ever imagined teased.
But I didn’t.
I was too impatient.
I ripped at the bag and tears instantly appeared as I tipped out a ring with a blue gemstone dancing in the sun.
It wasn’t real.
It wasn’t silver or gold or sapphire.
But it was the best thing I’d ever received.
Ren’s shadow fell over me as I swiped at the tears trickling down my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Della Ribbon.”
“I know. Sorry.” I looked up with a watery smile. “I just…Ren, I—” I shook my head, grasping for words on just how perfect he truly was. How grateful I was that I had his heart. How I’d never take him or his thoughtfulness for granted. Ever. “I just…I love you so much.”
He smiled, tilting his head like an eagle would while pitying a poor mouse for falling in love with him. An eagle who could soar away at any moment and kill that little mouse with just one talon. “I know.”
Taking my hand and the ring, he slipped it onto the finger where engagement rings belong. “This is exactly what it implies. We’ve messed up the usual steps of a relationship. We met young. We loved each other in so many different ways before the one that truly mattered. But now that I have you, this is the only way forward. If it’s too soon, tell me. If you’re having second thoughts, better put me out of my misery now. But if you want me as much as I want you, then you don’t even have to give me an answer because I’ve already made it for you.”
Tugging me into his arms, he kissed me sweet. “Will you marry me, Della Wild?”
I shuddered in his embrace, more tears falling. “I gave you my answer the day I was born, Ren Wild.” Standing on tiptoes, I met his second kiss, deepening it until the street vanished, leaving only silky tongues, hitched breaths, and hands straining to touch secret places. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
I could finish this chapter on that line. It holds quite a punch, and you all know how much Ren’s random proposal meant to me. But I want to tell you what I got Ren.
Pulling back from his arms, I was the one to open his bag and pull out the baby blue leather band with nine diamante letters threaded onto it—letters I’d chosen from tiny boxes full to the brim with alphabets and shapes, painstakingly deciding the best, simplest message for him to wear. For everyone to see.
He burst out laughing as I opened the clasp and hoped it would fit his large wrist.
It did.
Barely.
Stroking the glittery word-charms, he gave me a look so completely humble and awed I felt as if I’d given him the keys to my forever rather than a simple gimmicky bracelet.
And in a way, I had.
Because forever would never be enough. Not with Ren. Not with my soulmate.
Cupping his wrist, I kissed the springy hairs of his skin right above the bracelet. The charms blinded me with their crystal glitter as I breathed, “Della Wild Loves Ren Wild Forever.”
DW RW4EVA
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CHAPTER THIRTY
REN
* * * * * *
2018
WE STAYED IN the forest until the second snowfall reminded us that as much as we’d adopted the wilderness as our home, we had yet to find ways to grow fur coats and hibernate in warm burrows.
The cold ruined everything, making bones ache and lungs burn and bodies bow to nasty viruses.
The sooner we were warm and out of the elements, the better.
We had cash for a rental, but without furniture and other belongings to furnish it, we didn’t bother putting ourselves through the stress of real estate agents and reference checks.
Not to mention, we didn’t want to lock ourselves into a long lease when we had no intention of staying past the last frost.
I suggested finding another government owned hut on a tramping trail, or searching for an uninhabited building like we did with Polcart Farm, but Della took my ideas and one-upped them, suggesting we could have a toasty, furnished place away from main cities and only pay for the months we wanted.
I didn’t believe her, but the day we headed to yet another tiny town to buy thicker jackets, she topped up her phone credit, and showed me an online site that rented holiday homes that usually fetched a premium in summer but were offered at great rates during winter.
Together, we sat in a cosy coffee shop beside a gas fire and ate delicious apple and cinnamon muffins while scrolling through housing options.
We were there for hours, searching, discounting, debating pros and cons of each. Some were too close to the city, others were semi-detached or had the owner living on site. Most were totally impractical for loners like us, but finally, after a second muffin, we narrowed it down to three.
One was a few miles from a local town and decorated in country chic with yellow everything; two was a rambling big place with weathered furniture and bare wooden floors; three was a two-bedroom cottage with whitewashed floors, handmade daisy curtains, and the comfiest looking couches with a fireplace.
For four months’ hire, it would take a big chunk of our cash, but if the two-bedroom cottage lived up to the pictures, it was totally worth it.
Della—ever the resourceful and happier to deal with strangers—called the number and arranged to view the property the next day. We spent the rest of the afternoon heading back into the forest, packing up our belongings, and having a final dinner of fish and rabbit.
The next morning, we left the trees and met with the agent.
The moment we stepped inside, we knew.
This was our winter nest, and we paid cash upfront in lieu of not having credit cards. The round, blue-rinsed hair woman asked for a bigger bond seeing as we didn’t have the necessary paperwork, but after chatting to us and showing us around the quaint, cosy cottage, she handed over the keys and happily gave us instructions on how to work the oven and washing machine.
That night, Della and I made love for the very first time in a bed.
The foreignness of clean cotton and soft springiness of a mattress added a sensual element to our otherwise rough encounters. Our thoughts were on the same wavelength once again, and our touches were softer, our kissers longer, and when I slipped inside her, our connection was deeper than it had ever been.
I adored her to the point of stupidity.
I’d wake in the night with horrors of losing her. I’d stare, completely bewitched at odd times during the day, even if she was doing something as mundane as washing the dishes.
I had no power over myself anymore—she had it all.
And I was glad.
I was glad whenever the fake blue gemstone gleamed on her finger. I was glad whenever the diamante letters on the leather bracelet she gave me caught my eye.
I was glad for all of it.
I was grateful for everything.
I was so damn lucky.
Normally, I despised winter.
But that one…I didn’t mind it so much.
Not with warm beds, roaring fireplaces, and Della.
In fact, I didn’t mind it at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
REN
* * * * * *
2019
SPRING ARRIVED WITH a vengeance, thawing the frosts and banishing the snow as quickly as they’d arrived. The weather reports said it would be one of the hottest summers on record, and both Della and I couldn’t wait until the last day of our agreed cottage rental where we could leave for the forests we loved so much.
Living in the cottage had been an experience I wouldn’t forget, and we’d become a little too used to having a comfy house with a pantry full of food and a freezer crammed with everything we could ever need.
The first week after moving in, we’d spent a few days setting up with supplies, so when the snow fell, we wouldn’t have to leave unless we wanted to.
And sometimes, we wanted to, despite the cold.
On the mornings when the sun twinkled on virgin snow and birds sang in white-capped trees, we’d slip into warm clothing and go for a walk. Sometimes, we’d kiss by the frozen river, and others, we’d tease and torment until we practically ran back to the cottage and couldn’t tear our clothes off fast enough.
Those were my favourite days.
The ones where we forgot about ages and education and futures and society.
A simple existence where we ate when we were hungry, slept when we were tired, and fucked at any time or place we wanted.
Nothing in the cottage had been free from our escapades. Not the smooth bamboo kitchen bench—where I’d hoisted Della onto it, bare assed and panting. Not the claw foot bathtub that was big enough for two—where Della had gotten on her knees and blown me.
Not even the woodshed was free from us screwing like the bunnies Della wanted us to become. I’d ended up with a splinter in my ass, but I didn’t care, seeing as Della was a master at tending to my injuries.
A couple of days before we were due to hand the keys back, we washed all our clothes, sorted through our supplies, ate the rest of the food that we couldn’t take with us, and prepared to hike for the rest of the season.
I felt like a creature crawling from its den after a winter of bunkering down.
I was itching for exercise. I was ready for adventure.
I wanted to be a wanderer again even though I also wanted other things.
Things like being able to officially call Della my wife. Things like officially making our last name Wild and not just a word we’d chosen.
My belly clenched whenever my attention landed on her hand and the gaudy blue ring I’d bought. The promise I’d made and the need to make her mine was a constant desire.
I hadn’t told her, but one night, while she slept beside me, I’d used the final internet credit on her phone to research how to get married. The information bombarding the screen made my brain bleed, and the prices some people were willing to spend made me sick.
The thought of a party with hundreds of people watching a very private moment turned me right off, but even the civil service ceremony with just a single witness wasn’t open to us.
Basically, we couldn’t get married.
Not unless I found a way to get us birth certificates, and we became real people and not just lost kids in the system.
It was a complication that had always been on the back of my mind, but I had no clue how to rectify it. It also didn’t help that the diamante letters of my bracelet had already lost some of its glitter, the tiny gems falling from their metal surroundings.
In the dead of night, deep in my nightmares of losing her, I feared it was a sign that if I didn’t find a way to make her my wife soon, my entire future would be in jeopardy.
I didn’t care the jewellery couldn’t stand up against time, I would wear it until it disintegrated and then somehow resurrect it because it’d become almost a good luck charm, promising me a future where Della would always love me, just like she promised.
Despite my desires to make her mine on paper as well as in my he
art, we left behind the cottage where we’d found so much happiness and, for the first time, I was open to the idea of putting down roots.
A place to call our own.
A bed to keep Della warm.
A house we could raise a family in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
REN
* * * * * *
2019
2019 WAS ONE of my favourite and equally unfavourite years.
Summer was spent skinny-dipping, travelling, fucking, learning, laughing, and living in every precious moment.
It didn’t matter we had no life luxuries. We didn’t care our bathroom was open air, our shower was sometimes shared with fish, or our bedroom was a flimsy thing that was useless against storms—nothing could scare us away from the joy of being alone, entirely self-sufficient, and free to love how we wanted to love.
Our need for each other seemed much more accepted out here, rutting against trees and rocks, driving each other to pinnacles I doubted a house with pretty painted walls could contain.
We had solar lanterns that lit up our tent when we wanted light and solar chargers for phones we didn’t care about. We made do with what the sun wanted to give us and only ate what we foraged and hunted for months on end.
I never asked if Della missed her friends or school. I never regretted spending a lifetime ensuring she had an education, only to yank her away from one the moment I fell in love with her.
We belonged together.
End of story.
And I’d take on the entire universe if it ever tried to take Della away from me.
Then autumn arrived.
Bringing with it more than just its pretty colours of copper and bronze—it heralded my worst nightmare and the reason we left the forest much earlier than we planned.
It all started with a storm.
A particularly terrible storm that ripped our guy-ropes from the ground and scattered our tent pegs in the undergrowth.
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