So, when our preschooler went down for her one o'clock nap, Michele and I, still a little hung over from the celebrations of the night before, creeped out of the house dragging our little beach cooler on wheels, full of ice and a bottle of Moët.
We lost fifteen minutes in the walk alone and needed fifteen minutes to get back. So, we had an hour. One hour to sit still and reconnect. One hour to define our new goals and to mull over all that we had already accomplished. One hour for a little mid-day romance.
The champagne was dry and crisp, as bright as the sun's reflections on the soft waves lapping at the shore, it's heady fizz like the foam left in their wake. It was good.
We never finished the bottle. Our time was up at 2:15. But we carried the celebration through dinner, splashing the remainder of the champagne over risotto infused with a roasted beet purée. It was a nice send off before Michele took Asia to the airport for her long flight home, the meal together both comforting and indulgent, like the day.