“1996 Chateau Musar, you smooth talker! But it’ll take more than that to get into my panties.”
“It’ll take a bottle of White Lightning and some cheap weed, as I recall.”
Mary laughed. That was our first midsummer on the hill: awkward sex and stoned stargazing. Now we were both married with kids and careers. But on midsummer, we came back here.
“Y’know, back then I thought I’d love you forever.”
“What happened?”
“I grew up.”
“Was it worth it?”
The lights of our hometown flickered on below us. It hadn’t changed. We had.
Our glasses clinked. “Yeah. It was.”
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