Page 92 of This Thing of Ours

“Happy tears. We’re allowed to cry happy tears.”

And a little more than five years after that

“Babe, can yougrab a fresh twelve-pack from the cooler in the garage?” Gabby yelled, stepping through the sliding glass door and onto the back patio.

She loved her house. Small compared to her family’s standards, she hadn’t wanted anything big. Just enough room for her and Marco, their kids, and Fred and Ginger. She liked that anywhere in the house she could hear the kids playing from wherever they decided to settle. Loved when the sounds of laughter and barking echoed through the rooms. Loved she could hear the moment her husband came home.

Marco turned his head her direction, raised his pointer, signaling for a minute, then gave her a smile and a wink before turning back to his conversation with Ricky, Frankie, Dino, and Johnny.

Their family and friends were over for the fourth of July. The day was scorching hot, but between the pool and the patio misters, they almost had the heat under control. Nico was over by the barbecue, grilling burgers while Olivia and Amy—no longer her boss but her business partner and best friend—were helping Gabby in the kitchen with all the sides. Her parents and Marco’s grandma were on babysitting duty.

Gabby looked out into the backyard to a shady spot of grass where the group played. Angelica, the oldest at six, was the ringleader, motioning dramatically what she wanted the other kids to do. Sofia, Nico and Olivia’s other little girl, was almost three and copied everything her big sister did, waving her little arms up in the air and stomping her feet, trying to get her cousins’ attention.

Dante, her and Marco’s oldest at four-years-old, and the only boy, ignored the three girls, electing to play in a mud puddle he’d created. Gabby was just happy he was wearing his swim trunks because he had dried dirt from head to toe. Isabella—their little Izzy—had just turned two last month. She idolized her big brother and kept tottering around his mud puddle.

The adults sat in lawn chairs on the sidelines, playing referee and having zero effect.

The whole scene made Gabby smile. Her smile grew larger as her husband approached. Married for almost five years, he still never failed to take her breath away.

They’d had a quickie ceremony when her birth control failed and they’d accidentally gotten pregnant. Her mother hadn’t been happy she’d missed out on a big wedding, but she was easily appeased when Gabby let her pick out her wedding dress.

Striding toward her in only a pair of swim trunks, Marco’s legs were on full display—just how she liked them. Her eyes traveled up to his chest then a little lower to the puckered scar high up on his abdomen and under his ribcage, reminding her how close she’d come to losing him. She never took any of their days together for granted.

She forced her eyes away from that reminder and met his eyes. His were shining with merriment, and a smirk decorated his lips. He knew she’d been checking him out. She shrugged, what could she say, she liked looking at her husband.

Marco laughed outright and swept her into his arms when he reached her. “Don’t worry, streghetta, I’m in the same boat. When I look at you, sappy poems seem to sprout in my head.”

Gabby giggled. “Nothing can be as sappy as the poem you wrote when you asked me to marry you.”

“Thatpoem was not sappy. If I remember correctly, it made you cry.”

That made her laugh. “Impossible. A Conti never cries.”

He tapped her on the nose. “They do happy tears.”

She pinched him playfully on his side, right above the waistband of his swim trunks. “Stop distracting me and go get that beer from the fridge.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He dipped her, giving her a long, deep kiss before righting her again and smacking her on the ass on his way into the house.

She watched his retreating figure unable to decide which she liked better, watching him come or watching him go. Then decided it was a tie.

Family gone, kidsasleep, house quiet, Marco was ready for some alone time with his wife. Watching her parade around in her skimpy shorts and tank top all day and not be able to take advantage of it had been torture. But that was about to change.

He pulled out his phone and texted her.

Meet me out by the pool.

He made a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Gabriella’s favorite wine and two glasses also stopping to flick off the lights for the patio and the pool, on his way out back. He sat on its edge, sticking his feet in the water, poured out two glasses, and waited. It didn’t take long for him to hear the sliding door open behind him and Gabriella to sit down beside him.

He handed her a glass.

“What’s the special occasion?” she asked before taking a sip.

“Does there need to be one?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” He set his glass down and slid into the waist-high water. Grabbing Gabriella around the waist, he pulled her in to join him.

---