Back to the Beginning

The table was cluttered with envelopes, stamps, and half-empty glasses of wine—signs of progress, and exhaustion. Renee wiped her hands on a dish towel, smiling softly as Jake folded the last of the invitation lists and leaned back with a satisfied grunt. “Well,” she sighed, stretching her arms above her head. “That’s it. We are finally done." Jake didn’t respond right away. He just watched her—quietly, like something had just clicked in his mind. “What?” she asked, still grinning. “Do I have ink on my face?” Jake shook his head, rising to his feet slowly. His hands slid around her waist, tugging her gently toward him. “No. Just thinking.” She smiled, “That is dangerous.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers. “How about we get your mom to keep them out longer?” Renee blinked, surprised. “Right now?”
He nodded, lips grazing her jaw. “Yeah. Just for a few more hours. I want you to myself.” There was something different in his voice—deeper, rougher. A weight of meaning that hung in the space between them. Renee stilled, the towel slipping from her hand. “Why?” Jake pulled her closer, his hands gliding down her back. “Because there’s something we haven’t done in a long time,” he whispered, his mouth at her ear now. “Something I think we both need.”

Realization dawned. Her heart skipped. Their table.

He wasn’t talking about sex—they’d done that plenty. This was something deeper. Reclaiming what once was. The heat, the wonder, the unspoken thrill of discovery. She closed her eyes, breath catching. “You want to…”
“I want to make you feel like the first few times,” he said simply. “All over again.” And just like that, Renee picked up her phone and sent the text to her mom.
*“Can you take the boys for a few hours?”* Her mother responded instantly. *"Already planned a movie day. They’ll be with me all afternoon.”*

Renee thought she was lucky to have invited her so early and when she looked up. Jake was already reaching for her hand.

They didn’t say another word as he led her down the hallway and out the house—toward a memory they were about to relive, rewritten by love, by loss… and by everything they had survived. After the final text was sent, Renee and Jake slipped outside. The night air was crisp but not cold, a gentle breeze brushing through the trees that lined the edge of their property. Stars blinked overhead like silent witnesses. Jake laced his fingers through hers as they walked toward the third barn—their sanctuary.
They used to call it their home away from home. It wasn’t like the other barns—this one had been gutted and rebuilt, piece by piece, by Renee herself. She’d turned it into a space that was hers alone—until Jake came back into her life. Then it became theirs again.
Renee unlocked the heavy wooden door and pushed it open, revealing the softly lit interior. She had strung lights across the beams, and the warm golden glow illuminated a cozy setup: a futon in the corner—still the same one Jake had first dragged in when she moved out here—the same low table tucked away, and a cabinet she always kept locked when others visited. It was still their secret.
Jake closed the door behind them, his hand slipping away from hers only to trace down her back as she moved toward the bar cart. She poured them both a drink, heart fluttering in her chest as she tried not to look at the curtain. But her eyes betrayed her.
He noticed.
Jake followed her gaze, his lips forming a smile, "You kept it all?"
She turned toward him with a teasing smirk, but her voice trembled. "You think I was going to toss that drawer without at least remembering what it held?"
Jake chuckled, lighting a joint from the stash he had tucked away behind a ceiling beam years ago. "Same drawer. Same memories."
While he leaned back against the counter, she walked behind the changing screen. When she emerged, Jake nearly dropped the joint.
The red gown.
The one he’d bought her long ago when they were still pretending it didn’t mean anything. When everything between them was fresh.
She hadn’t worn it since.
He didn’t say anything right away. His eyes said enough.
Renee stood still for a moment, shy in a way she hadn’t been since. Jake was already walking toward her.
"You kept it," he murmured. She nodded, unable to speak. Jake took the glass from her hand and set it down. He circled her slowly, like he needed to memorize her all over again. "This dress was the beginning, wasn’t it? The moment I knew..." His voice faltered.
She turned to face him, breath catching as his fingers brushed the strap from her shoulder. "It was supposed to be just for fun back then," she whispered.
Jake leaned down, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "But it was never just fun with you."
The gown slipped down like a falling curtain, and the world outside ceased to exist.
He didn’t move quickly. Not at first. Every touch was deliberate, a reclamation of something sacred. They weren’t just two lovers tangled in heat—they were two survivors, clinging to the parts of their story no one else would ever understand.
His hands gripped her hips, as he claimed her mouth with a kiss. He could’ve taken her—but he didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he led her back to the futon.
Renee fell back into the cushions with a soft gasp as Jake hovered over her. He dragged his fingertips down her thighs, spreading her open to him like a prayer. Her breath caught in her throat, her body remembering every moment they'd shared between these barn walls.
When he entered her, it wasn’t soft—but it wasn’t cruel. It was urgent. Possessive. Desperate to prove a point neither of them could speak aloud. His mouth found her throat, then her jaw, then the corners of her eyes where tears had once dried in silence. She clung to him like he was the only anchor in a storm.
"You feel like mine again," he said into her skin. "You never stopped being." Renee arched beneath him, her fingers clawing at his back, her cries muffled by his shoulder. The intensity wasn’t new—it was the history behind it that made her shudder.
He took her over and over, every thrust echoing like thunder in the small barn. The red dress lay forgotten on the floor, and for a long time, nothing existed but the sound of their bodies finding their rhythm again. When they finally slowed, Jake collapsed beside her, pulling her against his chest.
Renee didn’t speak. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes—slow, unburdened tears. Jake reached out, brushing them away with a tenderness that undid her all over again. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "For how rough I got. I didn’t mean to—" She silenced him with a kiss. "I needed it too," she whispered. They lay there, wrapped in each other, the tension melting from their limbs.
"It feels like we just reset," she said quietly. He nodded. "It wasn’t about the sex. It was about remembering where we began." She smiled. "And where we’re going." He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her. "We’ve come a long way, Ren. But you’re still the same girl who stole my breath."
"And you’re still the same man who made me want more." And in the silence that followed, they both knew: This wasn’t a return to the beginning.
It was the start of something new.