She turns to me with another bright smile and nods, sliding closer until our shoulders press together. I pull out my phone and snap a photo of us, wanting to capture this moment with her.
We land after forty-five minutes of being in the air and, honestly, I could’ve stayed up there all night.
I get out and then carefully help her shaky legs step down, but before we head off, the pilot offers to take a photo of us in front of the helicopter. Pride washes through me at having chosen something she so clearly enjoyed.
We stand together, smiling. Her arm slips around my waist, and I wrap mine around hers. I don’t think she even realizes she’s done it. But as she leans in close, I savor it, feeling unexpectedly calm and comfortable.
I’m tempted to kiss her. We look at each other, and I smile at seeing the flush on her cheeks. “Where to next?” she asks.
I’ve already got the next stop planned: the “O” Cirque du Soleil show. I’ve tried to pack as many experiences in as possible, wanting her to enjoy every bit of this. But as we get back into the car, I find myself wishing we had more alone time. As I scroll through the photos we just took, I pause on one of just the two of us. I’m struck by how natural we look together.
“We actually look like a real couple.”
She elbows my ribs. “Get over yourself. I was just happy to be in a helicopter. You just caught me at a good time,” she teases.
“Oh, so it wasn’t my charming personality?” I raise an eyebrow. “Just the helicopter ride?”
“Exactly,” she deadpans, then breaks into a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
The shared joke turns into laughter between us. And God, it feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.
Soon, we arrive at the show’s venue. When she spots the signs, her eyes widen, and she grabs my arm. I find myself leaning intoher excitement once more as we join the line at the entrance. “Being your wife might not be so bad if you keep doing stuff like this,” she says as we approach the ticket counter. Hearing her call herself my wife sends an unexpected thrill through me.
I hand our tickets to the usher, who tears the stubs and points us toward the main lobby. “Not that I want you spending money on me… but I’ve always wanted to see this.”
There’s a catch in her voice, and I realize she didn’t know I paid attention to what she likes. We follow the crowd through the grand entrance hall, passing by merchandise stands and promotional posters.
“Have you been to this show?” she asks, peering up at me with genuine interest as we navigate through the growing crowd toward the theater doors.
I shake my head. “I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil, but not this one.”
She eyes me mischievously. “Another thing you haven’t experienced.”
The theater buzzes as an usher checks our ticket stubs again and directs us down the aisle. Karley takes in everything, the big stage, massive water tank, the performers already moving through the audience. I find myself watching her reactions more than the surroundings, savoring each smile. We grab a program from our attendant and stop at the private concession stand for premium ticket holders for some popcorn and candy, then settle into our plush, slightly wider seats with the unobstructed, perfect view of the stage.
“These seats are amazing, front and center, but I'd expect nothing else from you.” She smirks.
“Only the best for my wife.”
The lights dim, soft music begins, and an announcement informs the room that the show is about to start. I force my gaze away from her, though it takes more willpower than it should. There’s something magnetic about her today.
It’s spectacular; the kind of experience that sweeps you up entirely, and the show flies by. Throughout the performance, we lean toward each other to whisper observations. And at one point, I slip my arm around her without thinking. She doesn’t pull away, instead settling against me as if we’ve sat this way before.
When it ends, she turns to me. “That was even better than I dreamed.”
“It’s definitely close to being my favorite,” I say as we follow the huge crowd out. Her arm loops through mine as people surround us, and the casual touch sends a warmth through me.
“Which is your favorite?” she asks, leaning toward me with curiosity in her eyes.
“The Mystere.”
“Why?”
“It’s more of a classic experience with clowns and acrobatics,” I explain, gesturing with my hands to mimic a tumbling motion.
“I don’t like clowns,” she mutters, wrinkling her nose.
This revelation catches me by surprise. After all these years of knowing her, I’d never learned this about her.
