“So, where are you sleeping?” I called, 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 fully 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?”

“Well, I know some of the places I need to go, but I need to do a little scouting still. 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’ll second that.” Our glasses clinked and our eyes locked. We both smiled, a secret smile. We were finally alone, all 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 carefully 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, well, I like holding your hand,” I admitted, feeling brave from the wine. Witty banter had its place, but sometimes, all you need is the truth. He didn’t respond, simply smiled and brought my hand to his mouth, placing a small kiss.

We watched the waves, and when he pulled me to his chest, snuggling me to him, I breathed out slowly. Had it really been so long since I’d felt

—Oh, what was it I was feeling?—cared for?

“Jill 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 all 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, calling 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 practically 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 pillow so they could still be touching…It was just…I don’t know, it was nice.” My hand, still tucked into his own, squeezed, and I felt his strong fingers squeeze back.

“Sounds like they were still a couple, not just a mom and dad,” I said, hearing his breath speed up a bit.

“Yes, exactly.”

“You miss them.”

“Of course.”

“Might sound weird, since I never knew them, but I feel like they would be so proud of you, Simon.”

“Yeah.”

We were quiet another minute, feeling the night around us.

“Want to go back to the house?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He kissed the top of my head as we began to make our way back—hands stuck together like someone had spread Krazy Glue on them.

I’d left Simon to clean up the mess from dinner. I wanted a quick shower before bed. After washing away the days of airport and travel, I threw on an old T-shirt and boy shorts, too tired for the lingerie I had packed. Yes, I had packed lingerie. Come on, I was no nun.

I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom (yep, I had totally claimed the big one) after blow-drying my hair when I saw him appear in the doorway. He was on his way to his room after his own shower, wearing pajama pants and a towel wrapped around his neck. I was exhausted, but not so exhausted I didn’t appreciate the form in front of me. I watched him in the mirror as he appraised me as well.

“Have a good shower?” he asked.

“Yes, it felt amazing.”

“Heading to bed?”

“I can barely keep my eyes open,” I replied, yawning hugely to punctuate.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Anything?”

I turned to face him, as he stepped inside. “No water, no tea, but there is one thing I’d like before I go to sleep,” I purred, taking a few steps his way.

“What’s that?”

“Goodnight kiss?”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, hell, is that all? That I can do.” He closed the distance between us and slipped his arms easily around my waist.

“Kiss me, you fool,” I teased, falling into his embrace as if in an old-time melodrama.

“One kissing fool, coming up,” he laughed, but within seconds no one was laughing. And within minutes, no one was standing.

After falling into pillow Town, we scrambled about, arms and legs twisting this way and that, kisses becoming more and more frantic. My shirt bunched up around my waist, and the feeling of his hi-there against my hoohah was indescribable. He rained kisses down upon my neck, licking and sucking as I moaned like a whore in church.

To be fair, I’d never actually heard a whore moan in church, but I had a feeling it sounded a lot like the unholy sounds pouring forth from my mouth.

He flipped me about like a rag doll and settled me on top of him, my legs on either side, the way I’d wanted to be for so long. He sighed, gazing up as I impatiently pushed my hair away from my face so I could truly appreciate the magnificence I was perched on.

We slowed our movements, then stopped altogether, staring unabashedly at each other, appraising each other without shame.

“Incredible,” he breathed, reaching to gently cup my face as I nuzzled his hand.

“That’s a good word for it, yes. Incredible.” I turned to kiss his fingertips. He stared into my eyes again, those sex sapphires doing their voodoo that made me a puddle of voodoo goo. For him to woo. See what he did to me?

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he said suddenly, his words breaking me from my Seussian rhymes.

“Wait, what?” I asked, shaking my head to clear it.

“This. You. Us. I don’t want to screw this up,” he insisted, sitting up underneath me, my legs wrapping around to his back.

“Okay, so don’t,” I ventured, unsure where this was going.

“I mean, you need to know, I have no experience with this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I have a wall back home that would disagree with that…” I laughed, and he crushed me to his chest, inexplicably hard.

“Hey, hey…what’s up? What’s going on?” I soothed, my hands rubbing up and down his back.

“Caroline, I, Jesus, how do I say this without sounding like an episode of Dawson’s Creek?” He stumbled the words while talking into my neck.

I couldn’t help it, I chuckled a little as Pacey flashed into my head, and that brought him back. I pulled away a bit so I could see him, and he smiled ruefully.

“Okay, Dawson’s be damned, I really like you, Caroline. But I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and I have no clue how to do this. But you need to know, that what I feel for you? Shit, it’s just different, okay? And, whatever your wall would say back home, I need you to know that this?