Page 72 of A Change of Location
“Do people live in houses that small?” he asked.
“They’re old-fashioned rental cottages, for tourists. I always wanted to stay in one.” She shifted her gaze from the road. “This could be my lucky day. I was thinking we’d go to a motel in Freeport, but a Kozee Kabin might be better.”
“Jesus crow.”
Laughing, she corrected, “Jeezum, not Jesus. We don’t have to go to L.L. Bean. But we need to get home in time for supper.”
“Let’s stop at the store, just long enough to purchase something. A carrier bag is proof that we stuck to our stated plan.”
Martin had never seen car parks as vast and full as the ones in a town famous for its outlets and souvenir shops. Hannah, familiar with the layout of the sporting emporium, steered him to the display of canine accessories. He chose two toys, for Ariel and Jewel, then stood in a long queue to buy them. Hannah insisted on taking his picture beside wild creatures preserved by taxidermy—a moose, a black bear, a beaver—and forwarded all of them to Popster.
She drove back to the Kozee Kabins and parked in front of the small office building.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Rent a unit for the night.” She reached into the center console for a pad and pen and wrote down a combination of letters and numbers. Tearing off the page, she handed it to him. “They’ll want this. Tell them it’s a Massachusetts license plate.”
When prompted by the woman at the desk, he provided the required information and presented his bank card. In return, he received the key to Unit Ten, two bottles of water, and a bucket of ice. He walked to the designated cottage while Hannah followed in the car.
“Seafoam green,” she said, stepping onto the shallow porch. It barely had enough space for the two white plastic chairs and a small stack of cordwood. “I love it.”
Inside they found a compact stone fireplace, a queen-sized bed, a small wooden table with four chairs, and basic kitchen appliances.
“Knotty pine paneling, chenille bedspread, hooked rug!”
A basin, a toilet, and a fiberglass shower stall had been crammed into the tiny bathroom.
“This is almost like being on the narrowboat,” Martin observed.
She lowered all the window shades and closed the curtains. “Do you have any—necessities?”
“When you stopped for petrol yesterday, I bought one. There was a metal box in the men’s lavatory. I used all my coins to get this.” He placed the condom on the nightstand.
“Presumptuous.”
“Optimistic. Shall we resume where we left off last night?”
Gradually he unbuttoned her floral cotton blouse, pausing for kisses. She carried his hand to the zipper of her khaki shorts, and he slowly lowered it. Confronted with the skin-tight swimsuit, slightly damp, he pulled the straps down, uncovering the round breasts, and eased it down her torso. He knelt on the rug to tug off the rest of the suit. When she stepped out of it, he pressed his cheek against the curve of her bared hip. He felt her fingers in his hair as he stroked the dark, feathery tuft between her legs. Her gasp of pleasure faded into a hum of delight.
After shedding his clothes, he had just enough presence of mind to tear the condom wrapper.
They moved to the bed and continued reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies, searching for all the most sensitive and responsive places. Desperate anticipation built up until he could bear it no longer. He clenched his jaw, determined to prolong their pleasure. They moved together, slowly at first, luxuriating in the contact, until their need for fulfillment speeded them along. She came in a rush, palms tapping against his back in that excited way of hers, and that brought him to a glorious, shuddering release.
“That was worth the wait,” he whispered in her ear. He rolled onto his back and took her by the hand, placing it on his chest.
“Your phone is buzzing,” Hannah murmured.
“I don’t care.” It was in his trouser pocket, somewhere on the floor.
“What if the doctor’s trying to reach you? He might have gotten lab results before the holiday.”
That was incentive to check the source of the missed call. “Popster. Probably ringing me to bitch about the cool pics we’ve sent her and to moan because she’s missing out on the fun. She didn’t leave a voicemail.” He studied the figure in the bed—dark curly head, naked shoulders and breasts above the sheet—and raised his mobile.
“Don’t you dare!” She pulled up the cover.
“No? I could make a packet by selling your photo to Posh.”
“That’s not even remotely funny.”
