windblown effect.
It was the bed to end al beds. It was the bed that al the little beds aspired to be when they grew up. It was bed heaven.
“Wow,” I managed, stil in the hal way next to Simon.
It was hypnotic. It was like a bed siren, luring us in so we could crash.
“You could say that again,” he stammered, his eyes never leaving the bed.
“Wow,” I repeated, stil staring.
I couldn’t stop, and I was suddenly very, impossibly, excruciatingly nervous. I had a lovely case of performance anxiety, party of one.
Simon chuckled at my weak joke, and it brought me back to him.
“No pressure, huh?” he said, eyes shy.
Huh? Nerves? Party of two? I had a choice. I could go with conventional wisdom, said wisdom being that two grownups on vacation together in
a gorgeous house with a bed that was sex incarnate would immediately begin nonstop sexing…or, I could let us both off the hook and just enjoy.
Enjoy being together and let things happen when they happen. Yeah, I liked this idea better.
I winked and took a running leap on to the bed, bouncing pil ows al over the room. I peeked over the remaining mound to see him leaning in
the doorway, a sight I had seen so many times before. He looked a little nervous, but stil beautiful.
“So, where are you sleeping?” I cal ed, and his face relaxed into a smile, my smile.
“Wine?”
“Am I breathing?”
“Wine it is,” he snorted, selecting a bottle of rosé from the generously stocked wine fridge. Simon had arranged to have some basic groceries
delivered to the house before our arrival, nothing fancy but enough to nosh on and make us comfortable. It was now ful y dark, and any thoughts
we’d had about going into town faded away as the jet lag loomed. Instead we’d stay in tonight, get a good night’s sleep, and head into town in the
morning. There was a roast chicken, olives, a wedge of Manchego, some gorgeous looking Serrano ham, and enough other little odds and ends to
make a meal. I assembled plates while he poured the wine, and soon we were sitting on the terrace. The ocean crashed below, and the wooden
walkway down to the beach was strung with tiny white lights.
“We should go down to the beach before bed, at least take a little walk.”
“Done. What do you want to do tomorrow?”
“Depends, when do you need to start working?”
“Wel , I know some of the places I need to go, but I need to do a little scouting stil . Want to come along?”
“Of course. Start in town in the morning and see where that leads?” I asked, nibbling on an olive.
He raised his glass and nodded. “To seeing where it leads,” he toasted.
I raised my glass to his. “I’l second that.” Our glasses clinked and our eyes locked. We both smiled, a secret smile. We were final y alone, al to
ourselves, and there was no place else on the planet I wanted to be. We ate our dinner, stealing little glances at each other throughout, and sipped
our wine. It made me drowsy, and a little touchy feely.
After that we’d picked our way careful y over the rocky shoreline to the beach. We’d grasped hands to navigate but never let go. Now we stood
at the edge of the earth, the strong, salty wind whipping through our hair and clothes, buffeting us back a bit.
“It’s nice, being with you,” I told him. “I, um, wel , I like holding your hand,” I admitted, feeling brave from the wine. Witty banter had its place, but
sometimes, al you need is the truth. He didn’t respond, simply smiled and brought my hand to his mouth, placing a smal kiss.
We watched the waves, and when he pul ed me to his chest, snuggling me to him, I breathed out slowly. Had it real y been so long since I’d felt
—Oh, what was it I was feeling?—cared for?
“Jil ian told me you know what happened to my parents,” he said so softly I could barely hear him.
“Yes. She told me.”
“They used to hold hands al the time. Not for show, though, you know?”
I nodded into his chest and breathed him in.
“I always see these couples that hold hands and make such a show of it, cal ing each other baby and sweetie and honey. It seems like, I don’t
know, false somehow. Like, would they be doing it if they weren’t in front of anyone?”
I nodded again.
“My parents? I never thought much about it at the time, but when I think about it now, I realize their hands were practical y sewn together, always
with the hand holding. Even when no one was looking, right? I’d come home after practice and find them watching TV, at either end of the couch, but
with their hands propped up on a pil ow so they could stil be touching…It was just…I don’t know, it was nice.”