Hold My Tear, I’m Getting My Wife Back!

efore bed, Laura whipped up a calming nighttime fruit tea, a curious blend unlike any traditional recipe. Into the pot went chamomile, lavender, roasted barley, and rose petals, with a hint of citrus peel for that tangy sweetness.

The tea wasn't Leanne's thing, but Curtis sweet-talked her into downing a whole mug. Perhaps it was the soothing blend or having him by her side, but before ten, Leanne was sound asleep, snug as a bug.

In her dreams, she felt a gentle jostling, with a breeze carrying the scent of rain caressing her cheek. Leanne instinctively snuggled closer into the embrace that held her.

Something fell onto her, stirring her awake just a tad.

Wrapped in a blanket, she struggled to reach out, grabbing what had fallen on her.

It was a delicate pink bougainvillea, washed clean by the rain, its petals dotted with dew.

Looking up, dawn was breaking. Its early light cast a serene glow over the sleeping garden. The rain had stopped, leaving the grass and leaves glistening with freshness.

Curtis carried her across the yard into the car. The black sedan glided out of the garden, cruising the empty, tranquil roads at dawn.

"Where are we going?" Leanne asked, still groggy.

"Airport," came his brief reply.

Leanne, half-asleep, wondered, "Why the airport?"

Curtis glanced down at her drowsy face, still clutching the rain-drenched bougainvillea, oblivious to being whisked away from home.

"Selling a pig," he joked.

Leanne shut her sleepy eyes again. "You'll regret selling it." she teased back.

"Perhaps," Curtis said and took the flower from her hand, twirling it by the stem before teasingly brushing its petals against her nose until she woke up again.

"What are you doing..." Leanne swatted his hand away, her voice heavy with sleep.

Curtis smiled softly, his voice low and tender. "How about we go on our honeymoon?"

Leanne heard him but didn't react, just stared blankly for a moment.

She reached out, pinching his cheek.

Curtis raised an eyebrow. "What's that for?"

"To see if I'm still dreaming," Leanne said.

"Maybe you pinched the wrong face. Try this one."

He playfully pinched her cheek, comparing its softness to tofu.

"Sleep a bit more," he suggested. "Next time you open your eyes, we'll be on a plane."

That woke Leanne up for good, sitting up straight.

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She had looked forward to this honeymoon, albeit with a mix of excitement and skepticism, never imagining it would start in her sleep, unprepared.

"My passport..." she remembered the crucial item.

Curtis reassured her, "Got it."

"And my luggage..." Leanne said, "I didn't bring anything."

"Is it possible that your husband, who is smart, brave, and strong, has already prepared everything for you?"

The early morning light accentuated

Curtis' handsome features as he tenderly fixed her hair. "Whatever we're missing, we can buy there. Except for you, nothing else matters."

Indeed, the real barrier to Iceland wasn't the unprepared luggage but whether they were hand in hand.

The sunrise was instantaneous, brightening Leanne's mood with its splendid rays.

Then she looked down at her bare feet.

"At least wake me up to put on some shoes. Am I a barbarian to travel barefoot?"

"Who said honeymoons have to

involve travel? We could engageret

activities that don't require shoes," Curtis hinted with a suggestive smile.

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Leanne, fearing another of his cheeky comments, punched him lightly in the chest.

Curtis let out a grunt, "Like soaking in hot springs. Why did you hit me?"

Her clenched fist relaxed into a palm, rubbing the spot she hit, her ears red as she retorted, "So what?"