Walking through the garden centre, staring at the back of Lochlan's neck. He is golden-pink but only down to the neckline of his t-shirt, as he always has his hair tied back now. It's longer than ever and he doesn't plan to cut it, he says the curls are less aggressive the longer it gets from the weight of that length and he's not wrong but there isn't a person alive who has met Lochlan who isn't in love with his giant golden-red pop-can curls save for Lochlan himself.
He bought me a small pot of roses for the kitchen and a big stone fountain bubbler for outside near the apple tree. He carried the fountain and I carried the flowers. Within hours the hummingbirds were bathing in the fountain and the roses were blooming on the kitchen counter.
Staring at the back of his neck makes me feel ten years old again, watching for him in the crowd, focusing on following him without getting distracted, making sure to stay close, his ever-present t-shirt and jeans a flag, his hair a beacon, his scowl a casual master. He turns and gives a half-smile in relief that I am keeping up. He loads our purchases into the back of the truck and ties everything safely down so it can't roll around or fall and off we go for the drive home. This was a whim but it also finishes the food garden corner of the back lawn and so it's worth it, even though it involved a very expensive very long outdoor extension cord to pull it off and we'll have to spend time burying that so it runs by magic instead of obvious electricity.
Like us, he points out and the smile goes full.