Letters To My Soldier

Letter Twenty

July 2018

They say separation makes the heart grow fonder. I say that's a load of bullshit.

I don't need my boyfriend to be halfway across the world to love him even more than I already do. No, it's more like the small moments where he squeezes my hand or kisses my nose when I laugh. Those moments make my stomach flutter, my head go fuzzy, and my heart aches with foreign emotions. That's what makes my heart grow fonder.

Each and every day that Heath and I spend together, I learn more about him. He usually doesn't wear socks around the house, he's neater than the average guy-making his bed every morning and throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper. He doesn't pray before meals-though he's had to this past week and a half-and has a 'tickle-ish' spot on the base of his neck. Especially when I kiss it.

Since we got back from the cabin on Sunday, we've gone to the local basketball courts to play one-on-one (I've won six out of nine times), we went to John's Bowling Alley in town for Pinhead Tuesdays, Heath wanted to see more of my small town so I took him on a tour just going up and down the streets, and lastly we've visited Jess's restaurant on Wednesday to show him where I worked occasionally. He made Jess some Lasagna after the kitchen closed for the night. Jess begged him for the recipe but Heath didn't budge.

Now it's Thursday night, July third, and Heath leaves in three days.

Only seventy-two hours left.

And then eight-and-a-half.

Arms snake around my waist and I fall back into them with a sigh.

"How do you like...cherry pie?" Heath asks with his chin resting on my shoulder as we stand out in the patio, watching for signs of life in the forest that is my backyard.

"Not my favorite," I scrunch up my nose with a shrug.

"Hmm...Chocolate banana pie?" he asks.

I pretend to think for a bit, liking the silence of the late afternoon.

"Mmm, good but not my favorite."

Heath kisses my cheek with a chuckle and says, "You're hard to please...okay, apple pie."

"A la mode?"

I can feel his body shaking behind me as he tries to conceal his laughter.

"Sure. Apple pie a la mode!"

"Mmm mmmm, that's my favorite."

"Good, then I'll cook that tomorrow for dinner."

"You're amazing, you know that? I'm a lucky girl."

"You're a slave driver, making me cook you pie, letting you win at basketball and bowling!"

I slap his arm playfully-Jess calls them love taps-and shake my head.

"First of all, you didn't let me win, you just suck. Secondly, I'm not making you cook, you like to make me food and I like to eat it. Win-win right?"

He pretends to scowl and I wrap my arms around him, "You still want to go to the carnival tomorrow, right? I mean, if you don't want to go..."

"I do! I haven't been to a carnival in...well, never, actually," he says with a one-shoulder shrug. "Another thing to add to the list?"

"Hmm," I sigh with sympathy for him, he really did miss out on a lot, "I'm glad you want to go your first time with me."

Heath nods, embarrassed, "Are we going to cross something out tonight?"

"Which one?"

"Sneaking out?"