Everyone in the room loses it. Even Dr. Benefield. The tough doctor turns away to wipe her eyes. I would laugh if I had any room inside me to feel anything but relief and gratitude.
Marley turns to me, and I memorize all of those features I was afraid I’d never see again. She takes my hand. “I had to say goodbye to my life with Laura… before I could start my life with you.”
Her life with me. No words have ever been sweeter. I kiss her cheeks, her nose, each tiny freckle precious to me. The soft jasmine scent of her skin makes me dizzy. She’s here. She’s really here. My lips move lower to hover over hers, and just before they meet, I thank every higher being that ever lit up the sky for this second chance.
Marley closes the distance and kisses me. It’s the world’s most perfect kiss.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for not letting go.”
Her fingers flutter in my hair, down the back of my neck, as she says, “Thank you for our story.”
“Our story. What happens next, then?” I tease her, still unable to process my own joy.
She looks at me like I’ve just asked the dumbest question ever. “We live happily ever after,” she answers. “Obviously.”
I laugh. “Just like one of your fairy tales?” I ask.
She smiles that sweet, shy smile that I love so much and brushes her lips against my ear as she whispers, “Yes. Just like that.”
Her lips pull me in again, and I’m overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, from the shriek of twisting metal to the look in Marley’s hazel eyes the first time I told her I loved her. My breath catches in my throat, knowing this won’t be the last time I see that look. We’ll have a million more moments like this one, an entire story to live together.
Starting now.
A Note from Mikki
I was told once to stop believing in fairy tales. I was told that only dreamers keep their heads in the clouds and their eyes on the stars. I was told that true love was only for books and movies, that life would teach me that none of these things exist in the real world.
They could not have been more wrong.
My belief in fairy tales and true love sustains me; it keeps me alive in a world that doesn’t always welcome dreamers, and while my feet never leave the ground, my gaze is forever on the sky above and the universe beyond.
Like most of my stories, All This Time came to me from a place deep inside myself, a place I inhabit when I’m living in my heart instead of my head. It’s a place of magic and dreams and wild illusions, where my stories come alive and my characters talk to me in voices clear and bright.
This place, this inner world, is my reality. It’s where I belong and it’s where I thrive. In this place, I’ve known my Marley; I’ve loved my Marley. I’ve loved Kyle. I’ve met Will and Stella, Poe and Barb. I’ve loved them, too. So much. I’ve known true love and true heartache. These are the things that make life worth living, the things that make stories worth telling.
The choice to fashion All This Time into a kind of fairy tale was an easy one. Like Marley tells Kyle, we live our lives telling stories, creating them as we go. Sometimes these stories are small, everyday moments: folding laundry with our parents, feeding popcorn to ducks beside a tranquil pond.
Sometimes the stories are so big they consume our imaginations and our hearts: The Man in the Moon who smiles down upon the girl who wishes for love. A boy who meets his true love in a coma and wakes with a mission to find that girl and live happily ever after.
I believe in all these things. The Man in the Moon? He’s up there. I know he is. The thought that two people can connect in a world made of stories and dreams and somehow find their soul mate? It can happen. I’m sure of it. These ideas, these notions, are as true to me as the green grass, the blue sky, and the air we breathe.
Call me crazy. Call me delusional. Call me a dreamer. I’m okay with that. I’m just thankful that you’ve chosen to meet me here, in my world, and have allowed me to share my stories with you, because I will always believe in fairy tales. I will always believe in true love. Just try and stop me.
Acknowledgments
As writers, we start with an idea—a seed. We plant that seed into the fertile soil of our imaginations. We warm it with the sunshine of commitment and water it with love and patience. Then we let it sprout and grow, cheering as it blossoms into its own unique being.
What’s not always acknowledged are the army of gardeners and gatekeepers who stand ready to wrangle weeds and shoo away pests until the flower is in full bloom and ready to be shared.