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  • I was wet.

    I could feel the heat radiating from his body although we barely touched and I could not hear his voice with the thunderous sound that engulfed us.

    Rain.

    I'm not sure what you were thinking but it was the reason I was wet and huddled into him in the middle of Surrey, suburban England. We had a commitment to keep and whilst everyone was indoors on a Saturday night, we were out in our wellies sparring with a downpour.

    "Now that we're finished, shall we go straight home or do you want to go to the pub at the lake? Or pick up some stuff at the corner shop?"....."Quick! Shop and home, or pub?"

    "Errrr....pub?"

    "How about the pub that was renovated that we've never been to since we moved here (like two and a half years ago)?"

    "Oooh yeah. Let's do that."

    So we made our way across the golf course, slipping and giggling on the sodden grass and then running like kids when the cars were approaching the puddles at the pavement we needed to cross.

    Inside the pub was beautiful and quiet. We ordered our drinks and pondered the menu.

    Venison sausages. We must.

    We settled on a sofa and my husband noticed there was live Jazz and Blues starting within half an hour. We ordered another round and waited patiently. We talked as if we were on a third date. The date where one gets lucky; or perhaps not.

    We got lucky sixteen years ago and I still feel invincible when he holds my hand.

    I was tempted to get up and dance with him but it was too perfect to just sit there, the rain outside and someone I can still talk to whenever I want. Someone who does not feel awkward when I slide my tiny hand in his and take it away just as easily. We made half empty promises of doing the Jazz bars in Canada.

    Someone who, when asked if he'd marry me again, says,

    "I'll marry you again...and again...and again."
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