Page 92 of I Almost Do

“I have been to New Zealand,” I admit.

She looks a little anxious now that we’re here… worried her surprise could fall flat. As if that’s even possible. We could stay in a leaky shed somewhere, and as long as she was with me, I’d be having the time of my life.

“I’ve never been here to have fun, though. And I’ve never been here with you,” I say.

“I did actually pack you clothing, you know. I didn’t want to give away the weather. But you won’t be naked.”

I pull her close and rub my nose across hers. “We don’t really need it while we’re here, though. Do we?”

I suck on her bottom lip, and she shivers in response.

“The gates are locked tight. The guards have their own space and orders to give us privacy.” I loosen the buttons on her shirt, one by one.

She reaches out to work my belt buckle free. We’re not frantic. It’s a slow burn. Teasing. Gentle.

Until we’re down to our skin, and I’m just about to haul her to the first horizontal surface I can find. She stops me with a hand in my hair and locks eye contact, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Do you remember our wedding?”

I brush her hair from her forehead. “I remember all kinds of things about our wedding. You’ll have to be specific.”

“There was a moment. It was the first time I had the nerve to tease you. I messed your hair all up. Do you remember that?”

“Sweet girl, it’s a core memory for me.”

“You had this look in your eyes after I did it,” she says. “I couldn’t wait to see what you were going to do next. I almost ran from you, just to see if you’d chase me.”

“I’d have wanted to.”

She wrinkles her nose. Grins. Then gently bites my lip.

When she pulls away, she wiggles her eyebrows. Then she bolts, naked, straight for the patio.

For half a heartbeat I stand there, stunned stupid, just like I was at our wedding reception. Then I give chase. She’s got a small head start, but I’m not worried about overtaking her too quickly. I’m enjoying the view too much.

She turns her head back, laughing, and I catch her in my arms. Then we both suck in a deep breath, and I take the last flying leap with her straight into the deep end of the pool.

She wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, and she kisses me.

I hold on, both of my arms wrapped tight around her middle as my feet hit the bottom. She pulls her face from mine, gripping my hair in tight fists. When I open my eyes, she’s looking back. Water muffles the sounds of nature. There’s no hum of insects or birdsong down here. It’s just the two of us in the quiet shelter of crystal clear salt water.

Then I push hard against the pool bottom, propelling us both with my legs, aiming straight up. She releases my hair, just long enough to use her arms to move us faster through the water.

We break the surface, water streaming from hair and skin. Then I slide my hands down to cup her sexy, freckled ass. And I kiss my wife.

Twenty-Five Years Later

Marc says, "Okay, Dad. Do not freak out."

I look up from my dinner with a frown on my face. Because any time I hear "do not freak out," I know something is definitely about to freak me out.

I shoot a glance at Clarissa, but she's just sitting there, smiling encouragingly at him. Which tells me she already knows what he's going to say, and it's not that bad. Surely it's not that bad.

Marc reaches in his pocket and shoves a folded-up letter at me. I can tell the thing has been folded and refolded many times. He's been carrying this around with him, trying to get up the nerve to share it with me.

I pick up the letter and read the contents. My gaze flies to Marc, sitting there, tense and nervous, and looking so much like the perfect blend of his mother and me. My height and build. Her eyes and hair and freckles.

His hand clenches and unclenches on the table. There's a spark of defiance in his eyes.

"You want to go to an art school in London," I say.

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