Page 140 of When We Had Forever
“No rush.” Smiling, I trace my tattooed name with one finger, underlining the connected letters over and over. “This tattoo is stunning, by the way. I had no idea Arabic script was so beautiful.”
“I think so, too. Especially because of what it says.” He clasps one hand around mine and reverses the direction of my strokes. “But Arabic is written right to left, not left to right. Like this.”
I shake my head against him, awed. “Someday, I’ll know all these worldly facts you’ve got stored up inside your head.”
His heartbeat drums steadily against my ear. “Not someday. It all starts tomorrow. How long will you be gone?”
“Three months.”
His fingertips press into my side. “That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says. “I’m genuinely happy for you. I’ll even give you a ride to the airport.Nat Geo’s sending me to Malaysia tomorrow, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m flying to Kuala Lumpur in the evening.”
We don’t talk for a while. I run dreamy, sated fingers across his eight-pack, tracing the grooves between the muscles. He’ll wait for me, I know. And I’ll wait for him. Still, I almost ask if I can tag along to Asia. But at this point, we’ve waited fourteen years.
What difference will three more months make?
AFTER
By morning, we’ve christened four other pieces of furniture and still have fifteen to go. We’ve also gotten roughly two hours of sleep, and that much only at my absolute insistence. Apparently, age hasn’t robbed Grayson of the ability to function on fumes, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.
We breakfast in the kitchen in our underwear, trading bites of omelet. Grayson insists on lighting the lantern and putting it on the kitchen table, and I don’t argue. I even consider getting a tattoo of the thing, then decide he already has enough for the both of us.
After eating, he goes through my suitcase, tossing out half the clothes I’m convinced I’ll need and adding a few basic pieces he insists will save space because they can be layered. Then he asks where my outlet adapters are.
I give him a blank stare. “Um...my what?”
“Your adapters. You don’t think you can just plug your American computer into a European outlet, do you?”
“No.” I scoff. “Of course not. I’m notthatdumb.”
He peruses my suitcase, then turns solemn eyes on me. “You absolutely thought that, didn’t you?”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Hey. I’ve never done this before, remember?”
His mouth snicks up at the corners. “Why do you think I’m checking your work?”
Thankfully, he’s got spareoutlet adapters. He lugs my suitcase out to his red Batmobile and transfers a couple plugs from his bag to mine. “I like to keep an extra set with me. Just in case.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That would’ve sucked.”
“Anytime.”
Before I know it, it’s noon. Time to go. In the car, he holds my hand atop the gearshift and whips us out of the driveway at breakneck speed.
I squeal, even though I secretly love it.
I don’t look back.
Halfway to Seattle, I finally ask, “What is this thing, anyway? A Lotus?”
Grayson huffs. “What? No. It’s a Dodge Viper.”
