Authors note - A series of one shots of Ted and Tracy's life together, inspired by one of my favourite scenes from the show.
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He wasn't sure what woke him. The alarm wasn't due to go off for another 45 minutes but he didn't particularly want to go back to sleep. Instead, he rolled over, planning to wrap his arms around her and watch her sleep. She snored.
She would absolutely deny it, but she did and he loved it. It wasn't loud or constant, just the occasional, soft bout and he didn't know why but it made him smile every time.
Her side of the bed was empty. He sat up and looked around the room. She wasn't there. He got up and went down to the kitchen. She wasn't there either but there was a fresh pot of coffee brewed. Figuring she was probably curled up
on the couch, coffee in one hand, his stolen Sunday crossword in the other, he wandered through to the living room. Empty.
Just as confusion was setting in, he noticed the patio door was halfway open. He smiled as soon as he saw her sitting out on the deck, wearing one of his shirts, her hair unbrushed, her feet up on the rail and crossed at the ankles.
She was beautiful. He was going to join her, but stopped to listen when he realised that she was singing to herself. His breath caught in his throat.
That song. He'd heard her sing that song before. He stayed completely still, listening to the end of the song.
When it finished, she sighed and went to take a sip of coffee. Her cup was empty. She got up to get another cup. When she turned around, she saw him, staring at her and she smiled.
"Morning," she said. "You want some coffee?"
He didn't say anything. He just stared at her with that dorky look he got when he was working something out in his head. She loved that look.
"Hello?" she said. "Coffee?"
Still no reply. She took a step closer to him and clicked her fingers in front of his face. "Are you sleepwalking?"
"I heard you singing," he said at last.
"What, just now?" She wasn't sure why her singing would have this affect on him. "Was it that bad?"
"No! No, it was...it was beautiful."
"So, what's wrong?"
"I've heard you sing that song before."
She was starting to get confused. "Okay."
"The night before we met. In Farhampton. I was on the balcony of my room. I heard you."
She remembered that night. It was the night she finally let go of her lost love and made a vow to herself to move on. It was also the first time in eight years that she had been able to bring herself to play that ukulele. Maybe she
had been mistaken. Maybe that gust of wind on the porch of the beach house wasn't the sign that it was okay to move on. Maybe it came later, on two adjoining balconies at an inn in Farhampton.
Before she could speak, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Neither of them payed any attention to the cup that slipped out of her hand and thudded, miraculously unbroken, onto the deck.
"I love you," he said. He'd said it to other women before, but never to her. It felt different saying it to her. It felt safer, more certain, more real.
"I love you, too."
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