As is often the case, this is a story told in two acts. Thank you to YlvaBorealis for suggesting a motif in the second act!

The Anniversary Evolution

Year Seven

7

Seven in Arial Rounded MT Bold, lit from behind, inside the round circle. For a second, Amy pondered its meaning. Seven years of, well, what, exactly? Not being with Sheldon; they had dated for five years before that. Not telling him she loved him; that date rolled around every Halloween. Not being married to him, not legally; there were six more days before that anniversary. Seven years of being intimate. It wasn't the sort of thing one generally discussed in polite company. It was, in reality, probably only celebrated by them because it fell on another, more socially acceptable holiday. Wait, why was she thinking about it like that? Maybe it was Howard's quip about the seven year itch when they had arranged babysitting for their upcoming wedding anniversary. The itch for intimacy with someone new. Amy couldn't imagine that, not even for a second.

Then she shook her head to clear her mind, as the elevator doors were closing behind them, and reached out toward the buttons, 7 already lit. "We have to pick up Ada."

In one swift motion, Sheldon trapped her hand. "No."

"But Rajesh is waiting for us to pick her up. I'm sure he'd like some alone time with Stuart after the store closes tonight." She looked up at Sheldon's face, even as she elevator slowed and stopped, the ding announcing they'd arrived at their floor. Number seven.

Sheldon stepped out of the elevator and tugged on her hand gently. She followed, if only so the elevator door wouldn't injure them as it shut. "We told them it would be a late night," Sheldon said as he walked to their door.

"Exactly." Amy stood and watched as he fumbled with his keys in his opposite hand, not dropping hers. "The concert was shorter than I expected, so we're early. It would be a welcome surprise for them. So they could enjoy Valentine's Day, too."

"It was a shame it was so short," Sheldon said as the door swung open and he pulled her inside, the koala grin on his face. Like a kid who just got everything he ever wanted for Christmas.

Despite her confusion at his current actions, Amy smiled back at him. She almost couldn't believe it when she'd read the blurb about it. A concert of science fiction and fantasy theme songs played on the kazoo and ukulele? How bad would those songs sound? How much would Sheldon love it? But, when they arrived at the venue, somewhere they'd never been before, Amy had regretted her choice. The theater was tiny, run down, and smelled strongly of cigarette smoke despite the current laws. When Sheldon's foot got stuck in some gum on the floor on the way to their threadbare seats, she almost apologized, admitted it was a bad idea and she should have put more research into it, and suggested they leave. Why did she want to change their well-ingrained ritual of eating hot dogs in spaghetti and watching About Time?

But then, before the curtain even opened, the sound of haunting, other-worldly tones filled the air. Why did that sound so familiar? Sheldon had taken a deep breath, grinned, and leaned forward in his seat. "A theremin!" he whispered excitedly.

The concert was just as piercing to her ears as she expected - she preferred the smooth, soft tones of the harp - but Sheldon was adorable. He leaned forward the entire time, so focused, only turning to grin at her, even wider, between songs. She thought he would explode with excitement when Darth Vader's March started on the bassoon. He was the first to jump up and give a standing ovation as the small group took their bows in their tacky looking suits, and even the musicians looked uncomfortable with the unexpected accolade. Turning to her, Sheldon's eyes shone brightly as he said, "Where has this band been my entire life? This is the best Valentine's Day ever!"

Laughing, Amy had taken him home as he hummed the concert back to her in the car. His joy was so palpable, she couldn't even be slightly hurt that he thought it was the best Valentine's Day ever. But what was he up to now? Refusing to go pick up their daughter?

"Sheldon -"

But he pushed her against the shut front door. He kissed her, gently, which was surprising because of the push, and then whispered in her ear, "I love you more than Stanley loved Vera."

"You already -"

"Shhh." Another gentle kiss to silence her. The Post-It notes had not been forgotten; they were in a row down the middle of the hallway when she left the bedroom that morning. But this . . . ?

"I love you more than Leo loved Alma." Another kiss, firmer.

Quite frankly, she didn't care what this was anymore.

"I love you more than Alice loved waking up." With this kiss, he pressed his body firmly against hers, and Amy could fell just how much he was loving her.

"I love you more than Marie Curie loved science." Her mouth opened readily for his, greedy and searching.

"I love you more than Piggy loved making rules." His hand slide down her body, over her wrap dress, stopping on her hip as his fingers worked to pull up the hem.

"I love you more than Janeway loved breaking the rules." His mouth covered her's again, just in time to catch her moan of surprise as his hand slipped under the waistband of her panties. Thankful she decided against tights this evening, Amy arched closer to him, reaching down to start work on his belt.

So, on their seventh year, on the seventh floor, Amy let Sheldon brush her skin against the door with almost boundless passion. It was awkward because of their height difference and it was sloppy because neither of them were athletic. Their two pairs of glasses kept bumping into each other. But this was what seven meant to them: fervency, love, desire, gratitude, joy, impatience to share their love with each other, and each other only. Amy had an itch and only Sheldon could scratch it. And that was worth celebrating, every single year.

If she believed in karma, Amy would have been furious with it. After making Sheldon so incredibly happy on Valentine's Day, the universe should be rewarding her. Until this moment, she actually believed it was. She had wanted to do one of those artisanal cheese and wine tasting classes forever, but Sheldon had always refused saying it was "hoity-toity foodie Instagram preposterousness." First, she always told him she wasn't certain preposterousness was a real word, and then sighed and gave in. After all, Sheldon wouldn't drink the wine. And if Sheldon was miserable, so would everyone else in the class. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

But, the morning after Valentine's Day, Sheldon sent her a text at work, a silly formally worded invitation to join him at just such a class on their anniversary. She was gobsmacked. And thrilled. They would dress is some sort of cool, casual chic way, gather around a old wooden butcher block island, sample cheese and wine with other equally cool couples, and listen to a master - surely with an Italian or French accent - explain the heretofore unknown mysteries of cheese and wine to them. Even Sheldon would become a believer.

However, ten minutes in, Amy's daydreams were shattered. Instead of a reactant from the book The School of Essential Ingredients, they are sitting stiffly at uncomfortable desks in the sterile food science classroom of a local high school, and the harsh fluorescent lights were doing nothing for her new shade of lip gloss. Sheldon was sitting next to her, but there was no way she could snuggle closer to him as he finally admitted that wine was the nectar of the gods. Which seemed even more unlikely now. They were in the back row, where Amy had never once sat in her life, but the chairs were further apart back here and Sheldon wanted the leg room. And when would they taste the cheese? All the instructor had done for ten minutes was drone on about pasteurization in a monotone. Sheldon, Amy could tell by his wiggling, was beyond annoyed by the minor scientific errors the instructor was making in an effort to simply the explanations.

She turned her head until she caught her eye and she mouthed, "I'm sorry."

Sheldon shrugged and opened his mouth but then seemed to think better of it. He flipped the cover of the notebook in front of him - Amy had insisted they both bring one "to take notes" - and scribbled something. When he tore the page out, a couple of people near them turned around. Amy flushed but saw no choice but to take the note, now folded in his outstretched hand over the aisle between them.

Do you want to leave? it asked.

Amy shook her head at him. Sheldon put his hands up, a supplication for an explanation. Sighing, Amy opened her own notebook. It's so quiet in here, we'd cause a ruckus. It would be rude. Taking a breath, she slowly tore the page out along the perforations. Only one person turned around this time.

She watched Sheldon read it, and then he started writing again. Amy looked around helplessly. Why was he doing that? Didn't he know the sound of ripping was almost as distracting as their leaving would be? But when Sheldon tore his note this time, carefully following the perforations himself, she noticed that no one seemed concerned.

It's my fault. I should have researched the scientific and educational qualifications of our instructor prior to issuing the invitation.

Amy picked up her pencil. No, I wanted to do this. I love that you asked. I just expected there would be more tasting and less lecture.

Another note. I told you we should have eaten dinner. She smiled.

We can go through McDonald's drive-thru on the way home.

She saw Sheldon's eyebrows go up as he hastily scribbled a reply. Really? Only say that if you're serious. To do otherwise is cruel.

Amy smothered a giggle and looked over at Sheldon as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. It occurred to her that she had lost all track of what the instructor was saying, despite the cost of this class, but she didn't remember having this much fun in high school. That's because she'd never had this much fun, she realized. She had no friends to pass notes to, and certainly no handsome boy with whom to misbehave. No, high-school-Amy would have sat in the front row, taking copious notes no matter how boring the lecture was just in case there was a single detail she would miss that might be on the test. In the front row, friendless and unloved.

On a whim, she wrote a new note. Will you be my boyfriend? Then, under it, she drew two little boxes and wrote next to one Yes and next to the other No.

Sheldon's eyebrow went up as he read it, and she could tell she had genuinely surprised him. He looked at her, and she smiled and made a little check mark motion with her hand. Shaking his head in obvious confusion, he picked up his pencil.

Yes. Written next to it: Are you confused by the historical events of our relationship?

Amy smothered another giggle. Can I wear your class ring?

Another pause of confusion. I don't understand the parameters of this exercise. Nor do I own a class ring.

A roll of the eyes. Come on, play along. Like we're in high school. Or we can listen to the lecture, Amy wrote back.

A grunt of amusement. Do you want to go to prom?

Amy grinned. Yes! But tonight we could go cruising.

I've never understood why that is considered a pleasant experience. Amy put the note down and glared at him over the aisle. Sheldon shrugged back at her. Then he tore off another paper and wrote something quickly. A movie?

Dirty Dancing? My mom won't let me watch it.

She watched him carefully to see what he thought of the tense change.

I propose we make out under the bleachers instead, was his reply.

"Oh!" Amy dropped her pencil. Everyone turned to looked as she scrambled to pick it up. "Sorry, sorry. Go on. It's just that this class is so . . . exciting."

Her face bright red, she waited until everyone rotated in their seats again before she read the note one more time, certain she had misread it, and then looked back at Sheldon. He winked! The cutest boy in class just winked at her!

Am I dating a bad boy? My mom won't approve.

I'm worse than if Danny Zuko was a member of the Jets. Amy grinned. Apparently this was a 1950s musical version of high school. Although, now that she thought about it, Sheldon had never gone to a 1990s version of high school.

Taking a risk, she wrote, Second base?

Sheldon immediately set to work on his return note, and Amy watched him as he took longer than for any other previous notes. His pencil pressed hard into the paper with such force she feared it would snap in his hand. Had she crossed the line? Was he writing a forceful, reprimanding reply, that she should not be writing such things down for anyone to see, even as a joke? Amy's heart sank at her misstep.

But the page of notepaper that came back was a huge square, with big block letters in the center: YES.

Even though she threw her head back with glee, she managed to bite her tongue and not laugh or yelp or make some other very surprised, very happy sound. Still grinning, she picked up her pencil. It's a good thing I wore a tight sweater.

Don't think I didn't notice.

Amy shifted in her seat. This was getting . . . intense.

Should we get cut out and burn some rubber?

And go where? Unfortunately, I doubt Dirty Dancing is currently playing at any local theater.

We could play it on Netflix and pretend the couch is the back seat of your hot rod.

Can we cruise to McDonald's first? I'll throw in third base.

Amy burst out laughing and then slapped her hand up to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry, so sorry. It's nothing. Just . . . cheese. Go on," she said to the glares she received.

"Um, we're actually talking about wine now," a woman two rows up said.

"Well, see, wine makes you do funny things, lady. It's called intoxication," Amy shot back. The woman grumbled and everyone turned around. Now she knew they had to either leave or stop it with the notes. But Sheldon was already passing her another one.

Are you going to kiss me with that mouth?

Yes. But first we're getting Big Macs, then cuddling on the couch while watching Dirty Dancing, and you're going to give me some serious over the sweater action. Let's floor it.

Sheldon was up quickly, his long legs banging the desk in front of him as he stood. Amy put her hand out to him and squeezed between desks with him, as everyone turned around again and the woman who had said something earlier grumbled.

"I'm really sorry, everyone. We have, um, babysitter issues. This has been great. Really great," Amy blurted out in a rush as Sheldon pulled her out the door.

She held Sheldon's hand and ran down the dimmed hallway of the deserted high school with him, laughing along with him as lockers and sports posters whizzed past them. She was skipping class and with the cutest, baddest boy in school, no less!

Amy never saw the end of Dirty Dancing. Instead, there on the hot rod of their sofa, she was brushing Sheldon's skin and whispering, "I love you more than science and cells and books."

Sheldon brushed her skin in return and whispered, "You are grander than the Nobel Prize. You are oxygen and hydrogen and carbon and the rays of the sun."

They were having the time of their lives.

Among many of things YlvaBorealis writes better than me, one is zany, kooky, silly, recapturing-their-youth Shamy. For better or worse, I tend to write quiet, contemplative Shamy who think and feel things deeply and at length. You know, book people. So when YlvaBorealis suggested that she'd like to see Shamy at a cheese and wine class, I decided to not only use her idea but also to write a pale homage to her work. With an admittedly cheesy music pun to be the cherry on top!

So, thank you, YB, and thank to everyone for your reviews!