Back to You(3)
“Six days, five nights.” I pause to listen as she mentions some hotel options. “Yes, a honeymoon suite, it’s our five year anniversary—actually, it’s a lot more than that, too. Shit, just give me the best damn room you have with a hot tub and a view of the ocean.”
The travel agent on the other end is typing my requests into the computer like an enthusiastic machine. I must have mentioned our anniversary at least five times since she picked up the reservation line. I’m not too proud to gloat about how much I want to spoil my wife—make up for lost time, make up for what I did to our marriage, make her mine all over again.
“Mr. Murphy?” she interrupts my thoughts with a pleasant voice. “Most of the resorts are kid friendly, may I make a suggestion?”
If it’s kid free it’s for me. “Sure,” I say enthusiastically.
“There are some lovely properties available for weekly rentals. Some right on the beach. Very secluded. Is that something you’d be interested in?”
“What’s your name again, dear?”
“Margaret.”
“Margaret, darling, you are one intelligent woman. That sounds like a spectacular idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” I’m actually quite surprised with myself for discounting this option. I’m pretty sure Mia’s parents used to do this exact thing when they traveled to Newport.
After a giggle and a little more typing, Margaret finds the perfect, quaint, but not too quaint, house for us. It’s right on the beach, with a wraparound porch, a Jacuzzi in the master bathroom, and a hot tub on the outdoor patio. Perfect. What more could we ask for? We’ll have peace, quiet, and seclusion and six nights of the sound of the waves to lull us to sleep.
We need this break. Life’s been picture-perfect since that night at the bar—the night I had to fight for what was mine all along. Yes, I realize I didn’t exactly give Mia a fair chance to decide who the man of her dreams was, but fuck that! I couldn’t watch while another man sank his grimy home-wrecking paws into my wife. Who does that? What kind of guy sets his sights on a married woman? I mean, I’m not a total asshole—I know Mia wasn’t exactly innocent and that goddamn voicemail… I still have nightmares about it. But what’s done is done and he is dunzo. Over, kaput, on the other side of the damn country, far away from my beautiful wife.
Margaret clears her throat and snaps me back to the here and now. “Let me get you your confirmation number, Mr. Murphy.”
“Yes, please.” I would absolutely love confirmation that Mia and I will never head down that road of mistrust and miscommunication ever again. I’d prefer if it were written in fucking stone, to be exact, but unfortunately some things are out of our hands. I have to stick to those things I can control—rekindling our marriage and showing Mia just how much I love and cherish her. I’ve got that shit under control.
“Well, Mr. Murphy, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Newport. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Nope! You’ve been a pleasure, Margaret. Thank you for all your help.”
Ending the call, I browse the real estate website that has pictures of the house we’ll be staying in. The place is modern with a coastal feel and I can picture lazy mornings in bed and barefoot walks in the sand at night. All of that sounds perfect, but what I look forward to the most is having our privacy—Lord knows we need it. The length of the trip will allow for plenty of all that as well as taking advantage of the nearby wineries. Visiting Newport is something Mia has always wanted, but wine tasting and antiquing can’t exactly be enjoyed while toting around an ornery toddler—or two. “Sorry, Cara and Charlie, but we’re shipping you off to Nana and Pop’s for a few days.”
“Talking to yourself again, Declan?” Robert’s unexpected question from where he’s lurking in the doorway jerks my attention from the computer screen.
“Yup, you caught me. I was just wrapping things up for the night, what’s up?”
Robert enters the conference room, shutting the door behind him. He looks as tired as I feel—his tie hanging loose from his crumpled collar. Looks like he could use a little getaway of his own.
“I’m gonna cut right to the chase here.” What usually follows that opening line isn’t good. My jaw clenches and my nerves fray as he continues. “The client loves you, Murphy. They trust you, value your work ethic—your attention to detail. They don’t want anyone else touching their financials, in fact, they only want you.”