twelve hours and a kiss

Trail Ridge Road, Rocky Mountain National Park

I’ll admit it—part of that day was absolutely me in my element.

As a Colorado girl, I wanted to show him. The big skies. The winding roads. The way the mountains open up and make you feel small in the best possible way. And Vince—very much a Florida boy—took it all in with that quiet, steady appreciation of his. No rushing. No trying to one-up the scenery. Just present.

We drove Trail Ridge Road for hours, and I was secretly proud of every overlook, every curve, every “wait until you see this part.” Somewhere along the way, he admitted later, he stopped paying attention to the views entirely because he was too smitten with me.

Which, honestly, felt like the ultimate compliment.

We made our way down into Grand Lake, shivering through the chilly air and refusing to call it a day. And in true road-trip fashion, we stopped for water and snacks—where I thought we were buying our own and he quietly grabbed water for me. Result: three water bottles and enough snacks to sustain us through a small expedition.

Two slightly nervous people trying to take care of each other and wildly overdoing it.

Still not ready to head home, we drove up a mountain pass chasing the northern lights. We never found them, but we found something better—hours of music, sharing our favorite songs, sitting in the dark with the windows cracked, the mountains holding the quiet around us.

When we finally returned home, he asked—gently, respectfully—if it would be okay to kiss me.

And then he did.

It felt like the perfect ending to a day that was never about impressing each other, even though I absolutely wanted him to see everything Colorado had to offer. The mountains. The stillness. The magic.

Turns out, the best part wasn’t the scenery at all—it was sharing it with him. 🏔️💙