Page 86 of When We Had Forever
“Egypt.” His tone turns reverent, like he’s tasting each letter. Iamimagining it, clearly. “Good choice.”
My lashes drift against my cheeks as he paints me pictures with smoke-soaked words. He talks about bright, dusty plazas and the organized chaos of men herding goats across barren, sandy roads. About the particular sweetness of the way water smells in the desert. He tells me about stone temples glowing pink at sunset and the impossible awe of tracing millennia-old hieroglyphics with bare fingertips.
I drink it up. I canfeelthe weight of history, the majesty of the pyramids, the kiss of a Saharan breeze against my skin.
“I’d like to go,” I say in the darkness. “Someday.”
“You should.” He rolls toward me, cupping one hand against my cheek, and I coil tight, knowing I don’t have the strength to refuse him if he tries to kiss me right now.
But he just tucks my hair behind my ear and says, “Good night, Mina.”
“Good night,” I whisper back.
“Will you be all right by yourself?”
I know what he’s asking—about my safety, but also whether I want him to stay. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” He swallows audibly. “Is there a way to lock the door behind me?”
“Yeah. The key’s under the grizzly.”
The mattress springs back, and he goes without another word. A minute later, the engine of something throaty and powerful ignites in the driveway.
Long after the sound of gravel beneath tires fades away, I lie in the dark with open eyes, wishing I’d asked him to stay.
BEFORE
I spot the necklace while out for a walk in downtown Oahu.
The twisted silver chain glints in a jewelry shop window, and I stop to press my fingers against the glass. The necklace is spare, simple. A perfect twin of the one Michael lost the day he went to jail.
The traffic and salt-soaked sunshine fade, the tropical breeze giving way to the scent of kettle corn. I think back to those nights in our condo in Seattle, which inevitably ended with me and Michael making out on the couch or whispering in the dark. I can still feel the way the chain tangled around my fingertips when I swept my hand over the broad planes of his chest.
My arm falls from the window. God, that feels like so long ago. I don’t even remember the last time we used that corn popper, only that we brought it to Seagrove when we moved. I shoved it into the cabinet next to the dishwasher and don’t think it’s strayed from that spot even once.
I start to walk away from the window, then stop, unable to make my feet carry me any farther. Five minutes later, I walk out of the jewelry store with a bag in hand.
Back at the hotel, I find my husband on our patio overlooking the Pacific, catching up on emails. Beside his computer, a virgin piña colada sweats in a tall glass.
The flower-rich breeze ruffles his close-cropped hair. Usually, I would never interrupt him while he’s working, but here...
I sneak up behind him, set the bag down, and drape my hands over his eyes. “Guess who?”
I feel him smile, the apples of his cheeks plumping against my hands. “My favorite person in the whole world?”
“Nope,” I whisper in his ear. “Just your wife.”
When I let go, he snaps the computer closed and spins his chair around to face me. I climb on, straddling him. The effect is instantaneous, though I can’t say what gets me more hot and bothered—the willingness with which he abandons his work, or the way his hands clamp around my waist.
“I got you something,” I say, breathy.
“Did you?” His thumbs draw circles around my hip bones—something he knows I love but never takes the time for anymore. “Let me guess. Is it wet? And smooth? And tastes just a little bit like honey?”
My eyes squeeze shut as his fingers skim up my sides. It’s hard to believe he hasn’t kissed me once, and yet the way he’s touching me conveys something deeper than lust. It’s reverence. Worship.
Still, if he wants to pin me to the bed so we can toast the demise of our six-day run of celibacy afterward, I don’t think I can refuse. “You know, I think it’s exactly those things.”
“Oh, good.” His hands drop. “Because I was just sitting here, wondering how I could convince someone to bring me another piña colada.”
