The first thing that seemed strange was that I had room. Lots of room.

Room to move around, to roll over in the bed and stretch my limbs. There was no one—and no thing pushing on me, poking me in the back. There wasn’t a large mass behind me, pressed into me, contracting with each deep breath, in and out. There wasn’t an arm thrown across me or tucked under me, cupping a breast. I’d grown accustomed to being trapped next to him, underneath him. A phenomenon such as space to breathe and room to move was unheard of and frankly, unwelcome.

I frowned, squinting against a supernova as soon as I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed from every window, making the sheer number of them, shining shards of light into every orifice of the suite, seem like a design flaw. Almost as soon as I wondered where I was, my mind answered the question and my body reacted—my heart beat sped up and my breath quickened.

It wasn’t a dream. You’re in Greece!

I was on my stomach, spread eagle. After I accustomed to the light, I rolled over to my back and laid there for a few minutes, working up the energy to sit up. When I finally made it to an upright position, I was staring at my reflection in the dark screen of the TV. I grimaced, raking my fingers through the bird’s nest on top of my head and kicking the covers down the bed with my feet.

I rolled off of the bed, realizing then that I was still wearing the lace nightie from the evening before, sans the panties. Eager to remedy this, I kneeled in front of my suitcase and zipped it open and rifled through the stacks for something to wear. The weather in Greece reminded me of the Santa Monica Pier in the fall—pleasant days, but the nights were cool, worse if the wind was coming off of the water. I picked a few items from the suitcase and my shower kit and headed toward the bathroom.

An hour later, I was feeling like myself again, human and hungry. I padded barefoot around the bedroom, picking up the clothes that had been tossed aside the night before. I shoved them all into a plastic bag that I had packed, in the hopes that the hotel would have a laundry facility and we would not have to cart dirty clothes back home. Then I slipped on a pair of sneakers and a belted cardigan over my blouse and headed out to the patio.

JC sat at the bistro table to the right of the door, staring pointedly at a newspaper. Jean clad legs were propped up on the chair across the table. Socked, shoeless feet crossed at the ankles.

“Hey, you’re up.” The paper rustled and fluttered in the breeze as he folded it closed and laid it on the table. He kicked his feet up and off of the chair and sat up straight.  “I thought I might have to drag your ass out of bed.”

“Says he who slept through most of the flight. Both of them.” I leaned over him to drop a kiss on his forehead. He tipped his head back and puckered his lips, so I kissed those, too.

“Slept good last night, too. I told you, I never have a problem sleeping. Did you?”

I moved the chair around to his side of the table so I could see the view, and sat down. JC resumed staring at the newspaper.

“Slept okay. It’s awful bright in there.”

“Yeah, the sunrise woke me up. Felt like being stabbed in the eye.” The pages crinkled as he turned them one by one until he got to the back page and then folded it closed again and offered it to me. “You want to read it?”

I eyed the folded bundle. “Is it in English?”

“Yep. The Athens News is in English. There’s a story in there about International Museum Day. It’s tomorrow. All the museums are free.”

“Only you would pick up a newspaper in a foreign country and find something free to do. We should definitely take advantage of that. But I thought we planned a full-day Santorini tour tomorrow?”

He glanced over at me, then rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna be a hard ass about the schedule, are you? Am I gonna have to give you lessons in how to relax, again?”

“No,” I answered quickly, jabbing him with an elbow. I took the newspaper and unfolded it, scanning the local headlines. “Maybe we can do museums tomorrow morning. And then the half day tour? I just want us to see everything we came to see.”

He nodded once, slouching in his chair, clasping his hands over his belly and staring out into the sea. “Fine by me.”

“Do we get room service here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t check.”

“Can you? I’m hungry. Hold the jokes.”

He bit back a chuckle, but slowly sat up and then stood and walked back into the room. I heard his footsteps going down the stairs and then coming back up. The doors opened again and he came back out, tossing the hotel guest services book onto the table and sitting heavily into the chair.

“Looks like we can get room service but the prices are better if we go downstairs. Why don’t you pick what you want and I’ll go get it and bring it back?”

I flipped through the menu and scratched my head. I knew not to expect normal American fare in large quantities. I wasn’t prepared for sparse offerings of breads, cheeses, yogurt, fruit and honey in addition to tea and coffee. The Greek were not big on breakfast and were typically satisfied with an early cup of tea or coffee, a light snack of bread and meat mid morning, a late lunch and even later dinners. The hotel restaurant didn’t even open until 7pm for the evening meal. Dinner time in Greece was traditionally 9pm.  

I sent JC downstairs with an order for tea, bread, cheese and fruit, hoping it would tide us over until we were out and about. Our plan to be very casual about sightseeing. There was a Must-See list—full of things we could not leave the island without experiencing, like excavation sites and sunsets atop the volcanic edge; and a Nice-To- See list, where I’d put JC’s insistence on visiting every museum within rock-throwing distance. Between the two lists, we’d both get to cross off some of our favorite sites.

By the time we were hungry again, we would have exchanged more money and would hopefully find ourselves near a quaint café. I envisioned us sitting back, relaxing, enjoying the air and atmosphere, soaking in the culture and taking our time, a slow romantic tune playing somewhere in the background.

Meanwhile, we could make do with cloudless skies and a flat, unbroken stretch of blue sea that traveled further than I could manage to comprehend.  

Santorini is a small circle of islands, thought to be the product of an enormous volcanic explosion that destroyed what was formerly a single island. Below our balcony, the land sloped downward toward the water, etched by volcanic rock and structures that seemed to jut right out of the side of the cliff. I surprised myself with my bravery, stepping right to the edge of the balcony and peeking over the rail at the drop below.

“Step back, crazy!” JC stepped onto the balcony carrying two Styrofoam containers and two lidded cups on a plastic tray.  “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Just jog the heart a little.” I shrugged, going back to my chair, sitting quietly while JC set a container and a cup in front of me. He dug into his pocket and tossed a handful of square packets onto the table.

“Sugar,” he said.

I grabbed a few and flapped them together, ripped them open and dumped them into the cup of hot tea. JC did the same, popping open his container to reveal an attractive array of soft rolls and cheese, melon slices, grapes and strawberries. Alongside the fruit nestled a cup containing a white substance and a packet of honey.

“Yogurt,” he said, answering the question that must have been on my face. “Comes with the fruit, I guess. They just threw it in there.”

“Oh. Cool.” I opened a spoon in plastic wrap and dripped the tip into the yogurt. It was thick and tasteless. Not sweet, like Yoplait. I guessed that was what the honey was for.

JC dug in, foregoing his yogurt and popping pieces of fruit into his mouth with one hand while holding his cup of tea ready for sipping with the other.

“I could get used to this, you know?”

I looked up from my task of drizzling honey into my yogurt and then dipping pieces of fruit into the container. “What? Breakfast on the patio?”

He nodded, chewing. “With you. Here. Looking at all this.” He motioned in the direction of the view. “You know I haven’t got one phone call? No email? Nice.”

“That’s because we can’t get phone calls or email.”

“Still,” he said, shrugging. He stuck his index finger and then his thumb in his mouth and sucked off the fruit remnants. “I kind of like being out of touch. Been so busy lately, nonstop everything all the time. I hate being so structured. I’d rather just go with the flow. See what the day brings, you know? I’ve been daydreaming about this trip. I’m looking forward to waking up every morning, getting the paper, watching the sun rise, rolling your ass out of bed and then figuring out what we’re doing that day. And then just doing it, without checking a calendar or clearing my schedule and feeling guilty about it. You know?”

I nodded, smiling. I liked his daydream. “And here I was, looking forward to you not rolling my ass out of bed.”

“Can’t sleep the day away.”

“You sound like my dad.”

“You’ve said that before. And then you said that I should ignore you when you say that. So I’m ignoring you.”

“Ignore this,” I said, leaning over and nipping his bicep.

“Since when are you a biter?” He folded his arm across his chest and then lifted it up and over my head. It settled behind me, on the back of my chair.

“You like it, you freak.”

“Takes one to know one.”

I laughed and went back to my breakfast, my view, and my man. “When do I find out what we’re doing on my birthday?” My thirty-fourth was two days away and in true JC fashion, he wasn’t telling me what we were doing.

“You’ll know when you need to know.”

“Is it something special?”

“Of course.”

“Is it…. on this island?”

“Maybe.”

“Is it the nude beach?”

Slowly, JC’s head turned toward me. His eyes narrowed, and the “v” between them was creased deep into his skin. “What?”

“The nude beach. Is that what we’re doing for my birthday?”

He shook his head, his lashes fluttering as he blinked. “No. I can confirm that we are not going to a nude beach.”

“Do you want to?”

“Go to the nude beach?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Be-- I--Honey….” He stuttered, like he couldn’t get the words out. He stuck a finger in my face, saying, “First of all, I am not getting naked in public. Second,” another finger joined the first. “The kinds of people that go to nude beaches are the kind of people that don’t need to be naked. I don’t want to see that.” He shivered, then lifted his cup to his lips and gulped down a mouthful of tea.

“But if you went and you were naked, then the right kind of people would be naked. You see what I’m saying? Follow my logic?”

He made funny, uncomfortable noises while the edges of his mouth twitched in his efforts to not smile. He lost the battle, though and laughed. “It’s not even warm enough to go to a nude beach. You wanna go see a guy with a beer gut and flaccid penis stomp around in the sand?”

I shrugged. “No. But I’d want to see your six pack and your hard penis stomp around in the sand. Otherwise, no point.”

JC blushed several shades of pink. I giggled with glee at his discomfort.

“How about we go to the nude hotel room? Hmmm? I’ll get naked here. Tonight.”

“It’s not the same thing, baby. The whole point of a nude beach is to enjoy the surf and the sand and imagine having sex with the hot naked guys.”

“I can tell you have never been to a nude beach.”

“And you have?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. And really, it’s not like they make it out to be on TV.”

JC sipped his tea and slipped into a quiet reverie, alternately chuckling and sighing.

“So… no nude beach, not even on my birthday.”

“Nude hotel room,” he quipped. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

“Thank you. Freak.” JC shook his head as if I was just so frustrating, then tipped his paper cup back and drained it. He slammed it back onto the tabletop and tapped my arm twice as he stood.

 “Hurry up, missy. We’ve got a lot of Greek shit to see. And we need to get some money so we can see it.”

***                                                                                         

It was late, by any standard. European time, west coast time, east coast time-- it was late.

JC and I stumbled back to our suite, full to the rim with beef and potatoes, soup and bread and cheese, topped off with pastries and coffee and a few bottles of Ouzo. Drunk, silly, and overtired, we collapsed against each other onto the couch in the living area.

“Today was awesome.”

His head was tipped back against the cushion, his eyes closed. The rest of his body slouched against the furniture. His pose was relaxed, all the way down to his feet, which had already been freed of his shoes. Those lay under the coffee table in a haphazard jumble. Mine joined them.

Most of the day had been spent bumming around the city, walking up and down city blocks, seeing so much for the first time. The air was warm but not hot, the breeze cool, the sky cloudless. Our noses were filled with the scent of flowers one moment, baking bread and roasted meats and vegetables in the next.

My fantasy of a quaint lunch had been fulfilled. We stopped at Mylos Café and admired the sturdy, wooden, antique windmill, turning slowly in the light winds that skipped off of the water. The view of the other Grecian islands was breathtaking, so we took our time eating and drinking wine and watching the locals go about their day. In and out, without rushing. Warm welcomes and lively conversations and smiles from ear to ear.

That afternoon, we took the steep set of steps to the base of the island and hopped aboard a charter cruise that would take us around the circle of rocks and a bit into the sea. The deck was shady and comfortable, the drinks plentiful, and our fellow tourists were friendly.

I laughed to myself, watching two women out of the corner of my eye. I would guess they were about our age, maybe younger. Definitely American. The winds carried bits of their conversation to my ears. They were arguing about whether or not it was “him”. After a few minutes of bickering, and I think a bet between them, they slowly made their way around the deck. With what must have taken a large amount of courage, one of them tapped me lightly on the arm.

She blushed a deep, dark pink and smiled a pretty smile full of straight white teeth.  She was blonde, her eyes a bright and sparkling green. For a fleeting moment, she reminded me of Lance. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a pest,” she said quietly. “Can I ask if you know… him?” She pointed at JC, who had nodded off in his lounge chair, shades over his eyes, hands clasped in his lap, feet crossed at the ankles.

I nodded. She sucked in a breath, her mouth forming the sound as she said, “Oh.”  Then she giggled and stepped back toward her friend, a perky brunette with brown eyes. She leaned around her friend and smiled.

“Are you his girlfriend?”

I nodded, again. Practically fiancée, I thought to myself but didn’t say it.

“Luckyyyyy!”  She laughed while she said it. I knew the feeling of mock jealousy, so happy for the person you idolized but secretly wishing it was you.

“Don’t go far,” I said. “When he wakes up, I’ll point you out. I’m sure he’d be okay with you saying hello.”

“Really?” Both sets of eyes grew wide to match their smiles. The brunette said, “We won’t bug you guys, we promise. I know you’re on vacation. I mean, we are too. I just meant… we’ll wait for your signal.”

I nodded a third time in agreement and watched them move further down the deck, chattering amongst themselves, smoothing down their hair, adjusting their clothing, reapplying lip gloss. Fans were funny. And sometimes a lot of fun. Obviously, I was one of the fun ones.

JC stirred about a half hour later, yawning and stretching, scratching his arms and belly. He got up from his lounge chair and joined me on the deck where I had been leaning against the railing most of the time, taking pictures and mental snapshots.

“Have a good nap?”

“Great nap,” he said, snapping out a residual yawn. “A boat feels almost like a tour bus. I always slept so well on the bus. Did I miss much?”

“Some,” I answered. “You have fans on the boat.”

“I do?” He whipped his head around in one direction and then another. Something caught his eye and his gaze lingered. He turned back around. “The two chicks across the deck looking like they’re trying not to look at us?”

“That’s them. I told them I would let them know if you were okay with them saying hi. They realize we’re on vacation, though. So if you don’t want to…”

“Well...no, no. I’ll say hi. I just look like shit, probably.”

I glanced over at him, admiring him from head to toe. His hair was wavy and combed back, his eyes a bright and piercing blue. He hadn’t shaved that morning, so a light layer of stubble covered his chin and cheek. He was dressed casually in a long sleeved t-shirt that was just a little bit too small so it clung to his shoulders and chest and hugged his torso all the way down to where it met the band of his jeans. His beloved black and red sneakers finished out the mismatched look, but JC hadn’t looked like shit ever, in my book. He looked fine. More than fine.

“You don’t quite fit the bill for shit,” I joked. “Should I wave them over?”

“Sure. Do you have any gum?”

I dug into my bag, luckily finding a pack of Trident. I handed him a slice and turned around to find the two girls, but didn’t see them. “Be right back,” I said, leaving JC at the railing.

I found them down below the deck, near the bar and the music. They seemed surprised to see me, and smiled. I smiled back and without a word, grabbed hands and pulled them back with me, up the stairs and around the deck and back to JC. Behind me, I heard light squeals and ohmygodohmygodohmygod mumbled under their breaths.

JC was gracious as always, shaking hands, taking pictures, answering questions. Yes, we were on vacation. No, we’d never been to Greece before. Yes we were having a great time. No, no album yet but hopefully soon. Thanks, I loved *NSYNC, too.

It turned out that the two women, Beth and Pam, had been to Greece several times and spent most of their trips in Santorini. They hung out near us on the deck, taking turns telling stories and giving advice about the best places to go. JC shot me a smug smile as they chattered excitedly about International Museum Day and gave their recommends—best museums, best exhibits, and most importantly, which shows gave out free food and drinks. In a moment of what was likely insanity, or maybe just vacation mode, we agreed to meet them at a local museum the next morning and let them be our tour guides.

The rest of the charter cruise was amazing. The water was so blue, I wanted to bottle some and take it home, maybe make a snow globe out of the sand from the island and the Aegean Sea.  We moored around to the different ports among Santorini, picking up and dropping off passengers as we went. We had a few minutes at each stop to poke our heads into gift shops and explore different areas of the island before hopping back on the boat. Along the way, we passed rock formations centuries old. Peered inside a volcano. Marveled at a lighthouse.

And then, when the sun had made its journey across the sky and was but a glowing reflection in the water, we slowly sailed our way back to the port at Oia, the sunset at our backs, the breeze adding a whip of cold air to its bite. I shivered, cuddling close to JC, who wrapped both arms around me. He rubbed my back and arms through my thin sweater while we talked and laughed. He kissed my forehead and sighed that content, happy sigh in my ear and we stood there, watching the sun sink below the horizon, riding the calm to and fro rocking of the boat and listening to the water lapping against the hull.

The climb back up the steps was what worked up the appetite. Well, and the walk back through the streets to our hotel. We stopped in at the hotel restaurant and proceeded to sit and eat for hours on end, taking our time. Things moved slowly here, after all. We had nothing, no one but each other to worry about.

On the way back to our room, I spotted the hotel business center and stopped in. Logging into email seemed harder since I was pretty drunk, but eventually we were connected to Gmail. I shot off an email to my parents and Melissa. JC sent a note to his mom and to Tyler and as soon as he pressed send, he logged out and stood up, pulling me by the hand out of the room. We weren’t going to spend our vacation on the internet, he said.

Now we were sprawled lazily on the couch, eyeing the steps going up to the bedroom but not moving toward them quite yet.

“Today was pretty great,” I finally said in response. “I had the best time with you.”

JC rolled his head toward me. “Good. That makes me happy. In here.” His hand splayed widely on his chest.

“In your lungs?” I giggled. “I take your breath away?”

“No, my heart.” He shifted his hand to the left and smirked. “Smart ass.”

“You love it.”

“You know what I love? Thinking about what you’re wearing tonight. You should get on that. Chop, chop.”

I grunted, making an effort to sit up and then to stand and push my feet toward the steps. One by one, I climbed them. “Are you coming?” I called down over the banister.

“Eventually,” came the smart remark from below.

My second night of showering alone was interrupted with a blast of cool air. JC pushed back the curtain, viewed the remaining space in the absolutely tiny shower stall and stepped in behind me. He pressed against me, trapped between the wall and my body. I considered complaining, but he felt so good behind me, around me, taking up space. And when he grabbed a towel and my body wash, lathered it up and started scrubbing while his hums bounced off of the walls and echoed back to my ears, I thought better of it.

When I was squeaky clean, we switched places. I admit to taking my time with him, working the soapy towel over every part of him from his neck to his ankles, working up the lather and watching his muscles ripple with every movement. We spent a few minutes under the last of the hot water kissing and stroking each other. I’d been trying not to get my hair wet but gave up. JC’s hands in my hair, cupping my face to him so he could kiss me harder trumped anything I’d have to do to it the next morning.

The water cascading from the wide shower head ran cold. I finally turned off the spigot and pulled back the curtain and climbed out. We hurriedly toweled off and moved into the bedroom where there was infinitely more space to move around.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” JC said, whistling his appreciation and ogling like a dirty old man. I modeled the open back, black lace baby doll gown with matching black satin thong. “Lace. Satin.”

“Your senses are right on target.” I pointed at the towel that was wrapped around his waist as I crawled onto the bed behind him. “Time to lose that. You promised me nudity.”

He stood, loosened the towel, and let it drop. “Happy?” He asked.

My mouth went dry as I stared. “Oh, baby. You have no idea.”

###

We were late meeting Pam and Beth. Not because we overslept, though. Actually, we were up early.

Well, JC was up early, curled behind me, pressed against me. In the fog between sleep and awake, I felt his hands stroking my skin, the rumble of his groans through his chest at my back, his rough, dry lips against my cheek, my neck and shoulders. He worked a hand between my thighs and nudged them open, wedging a leg between mine.

In the next moment I was waking up to the pleasant sensation of him pushing into me, whispering sweet things into my ear. How much he loved me, how happy I made him, how sexy I was, how I turned him on. Always a sucker for a turned-on JC, I heaved a breath and pushed back against him, clutching his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

His chin anchored between my neck and shoulders, directing his every breath onto my skin while his body moved against mine in steady, hard rhythm.

“Oh my---God, don’t stop.”

His speed increased, as did his grunts and moans, which rose in volume with mine until we each passed over the point of climax and cried out.

“Shit,” I panted, brushing my hair back from my face. Aftershocks were riding through me, bucking my hips every few seconds. JC liked knowing he made that happen. “Now we have to shower, again.”

“Damn,” he said, rolling out of the bed and snatching his towel from the night before off of the floor. “That’s such a shame. C’mon, missy. Roll that ass out of bed.”

By the time we met Beth and Pam, we were wide awake, clutching tall cups of tea and giggly. JC could be very silly when he was in a good mood, and he was in a very good mood.  We muttered apologies to our tour guides for being late. They issued smug grins and led the way through the first museum.

 JC glanced at me and shrugged, then bent down to whisper in my ear. “We’re on vacation,” he said. “I’m not going to apologize for having that I just had sex look on my face.” I laughed, thanking every lucky star that my parents were nowhere near us. For that matter, neither were his.

We wound our way through two museums in the first few hours. JC was the artist, I was along for the ride, so while he was actively involved, studying sculptures and paintings, investigating technique and methods, I was reading the placards about the artists and the time period represented by each piece.

In Fira, the capital city, we visited the Museum of Prehistoric Thira, one of the few 17th century old family mansions to have survived the earthquake of 1956. We tiptoed through the ancient home, restored to prehistoric glory by the Catholic Diocese. Every stone, every tool, every low arch and rounded dome was like an age old voice speaking to me. Telling me that I was a part of all of this. I was moved, standing there. I felt like I like belonged there, more than I belonged anywhere.

We paid for lunch (which was really only the mid-morning snack) as a thanks to our tour guides, who only had about an hour before meeting another group for an island hopping adventure. They lived in Texas, we learned, teachers on their own spring break.

“So how long have you two been together?” Beth, the brunette, tore at a loaf of warm, crusty bread.

“Uh, two years in October,” JC answered. “Right honey?” I nodded, my mouth full as usual.

“Wow. You two make such a good looking couple. I can’t believe it’s not all over the tabloids.”

“We stay out of trouble,” I said, winking at JC.

“Or don’t get caught,” he said, winking back. “I guess the press doesn’t really give a shit who I’m dating. And I like that just fine.”

“I bet that’s nice. Dating is hard enough without the world watching your every move. And judging your worth based on who you’re wearing.”

Her last comment seemed to be directed at me. I shrugged, having never really fought that battle. I’d stopped worrying about how I looked after JC assured me that he had no problems with how I dressed. As long as he was happy, I was, too.

Beth and Pam had to go. We weren’t in such a hurry. They waved goodbye and walked briskly, in step with each other.

“That was nice of you,” I said to JC.

“What was?” He was swirling a glass of red wine, his first of the afternoon.

“Indulging them. Not so long ago, that would have put me on cloud nine.”

“And now? What cloud do I put you on, now?”

I shrugged a shoulder, picked at a pastry, feeling shy. “I don’t think that cloud has a number. It’s up there, way up high though.”

JC sipped from the glass, drinking down the sweet red, his eyes never leaving mine. He licked his lips and set the glass down, leaning forward on his elbows.

“JC? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“When we were… not together, I thought about you a lot. I mean, I thought about all the good stuff, but the bad stuff, too. I thought a lot about how I treated you and how I used to be so scared that you were dumping me. I thought that you not coming after me was a sign that you didn’t want me anymore. I was so nervous to go to New York because I was just sure you were done with me. I mean, you seemed really hurt when I saw you, that night at the Mercury.”

“Is there a question in there?”

I raised my head and looked him straight in the eye. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you take me back? If you think about it, your life could be a whole lot easier. You could work as long and as hard as you want to, without someone nagging you to come home. You could go to events without having to drag someone along with you. You could have your bed and your closet to yourself again. For starters.”

“I wouldn’t say easier,” JC said, tipping his head to the side. “You do realize that before I met you, my diet consisted of Baja Fresh, Easy Mac, and Miller Light, right? And I had to wait for someone to do my laundry and make my bed. And instead of a sweet smelling, beautiful girl across the table from me, I had Tyler who sounds like a hog when he eats.”

I laughed at the sudden memory of the sound of Tyler eating. God bless Allison, who loved him anyway.

“Okay, so I’m domestic. But you wouldn’t have to second guess yourself, where you should be the most confident. You wouldn’t have to put so much out there and wonder if you were wasting your time. You wouldn’t risk getting your heart broken when I couldn’t handle the thought that this could turn into forever. I’m neurotic and fucked up. I dragged you through a lot of shit, just to prove that you love me. I just don’t know why you stay.”

JC’s eyes focused on the centerpiece of the table, a crystal clear vase of flowers in mid bloom. He fingered the white lace doily anchored between the vase and the table.  When he finally spoke, he was quiet and thoughtful, measuring his words carefully.

“When you walked out that night, I was mad at you. Every day after that, I was mad at me. Like I said when you came to see me, you had a right to be pissed off. You sacrificed almost everything to be with me and I didn’t change anything. My life rolled along as easily as it did before I went out to Atlanta and dragged you home. The truth is that I didn’t come after you because I figured that you’d had enough of me. And if you wanted me back, you would come find me.

“I’m not big on holding grudges, you know? My philosophy is that if I can get over it, I get over it. And if I can’t, I move on. With my girlfriends before, things happened that I couldn’t get over. Cheating, and lying and trying to trap me—when I was done, I moved on. But Serena…”

He grabbed my hand, his fingers stroking my palm. “There was never a time when I was done with you. The good parts of you and our good times and being in love with you far outweighs your crazy fucked up times. You never said or did anything that I couldn’t get over. And when you came to see me… you were different.”

“How? What do you mean, different?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still stroking my palm but now looking me in the eye. “Just different. More open, maybe. Less scared. Way less scared. And happy. You’ve seemed really happy, lately.”

I beamed, my face growing hot and turning red, I was sure. I didn’t care. “I am really happy lately. I could be happy forever with you.”

His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Forever? We’re using the F word now?” I nodded, my head bobbing a ‘yes’. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“If you think it means that I’m ready to start talking about the F word…and maybe the M word then, yeah.”

JC sucked in a breath and sat up straight. He looked around the restaurant we’d chosen for lunch. It was packed full of people from wall to wall, each table involved in their own conversations. Overhead, a peppy beat crackled out of the speakers as a pop singer sang a song I couldn’t understand.

“We should get going,” he said, reluctantly letting go of my hand and pushing his chair away from the table. “We’ll be late for our tour.”

I stood, gathering our things—a sweater for me, a sweatshirt for him and my bag. I mused to myself, trying to gauge how that conversation went. I’d finally—finally – admitted to wanting to talk about our future. His response to that was to get up and leave. I scratched my head and followed him out, less interested in spending the afternoon touring the island than what his reaction meant. Maybe I would ask him later.

Maybe.

*

We made it back to our hotel room earlier than the night before but still late. This vacation was starting to tire me out. Late nights and early mornings and going, going, going. JC was like the Energizer Bunny. He wound himself up at the beginning of the day and was still going at the end of it.

“Can we sleep in, tomorrow?” I moaned, peeling off my clothing, dreading slipping on something filmy and silky for JC that night. All I wanted was my soft cotton night shirt, a bed, and a heavy arm tossed over me.

“I guess, since it’s your birthday. Not long, though. We have to pack, tomorrow.”  I turned around from the drawer I was digging through to give him my what the fuck are you talking about glare. He smiled, lying on the bed, remote in hand. “We’re staying somewhere tomorrow night. Not here. So, we need to pack.”

“Oh.” I turned back around, wracking my brain to think of where we would possibly be going overnight.

“Hey,” I heard from the bed. I turned around again. JC crooked a finger and beckoned me to him. I obeyed and crawled up onto the bed in my bra and panties. “You seem down. Talk to me.”

I laid down next to him, rested my head on his shoulder and sighed. “I don’t mean to seem down. I’m exhausted, though.”

“Is that all? Are you mad at me, about our conversation?”

“No.” I shook my head against his shoulder. “I’m not mad. Confused, but not mad. I expected to talk about it more I guess.”

“We will. I just want to think for a little bit. Can I have some time?” I nodded, snuggling closer to him, feeling myself drift into sleep, but thinking to myself that he’d had a lot of time to think about it.

Now he wanted time to think? I thought I was the holdup, the barricade that stood in the way of happily ever after with JC.