Page 74 of Not the Plan

“Um…okay.”

“No,” she said. “No ‘Um…okay.’ You will not do it anymore. Period.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No trash, no garbage, not anything even remotely close to an inference.” She rested her head back on his chest, taking a deep breath as she tightened the arm she had around him. Then came the sting of tears in the back of his eyes.

After a few minutes, their breathing was in sync. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had the thought to start playing with her hair again, when she rolled away from him and stretched.

“I think…” She chuckled. His last bits of intimidation evaporated. “I was right about being out of practice.” She giggled. “My back is killing me. I may need a hot shower and a Tylenol.” She scooted away from him to get into child’s pose and stretched her lower back.

“I can help you with that if you’d like,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

He turned to his nightstand, opened a drawer, and took out a small tube.

“What’s that?”

“A little something I use to grease the wheels when I need to relax.” He winked at her.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.” He pulled the sheet to her waist and moved up onto his knees.

After warming the oil in his hands, he massaged her arms and shoulders. Her sighs of contentment encouraged him along. He took his time, enjoying the trip down her back, until something stopped him.

“And what do we have here?” He’d found a tattoo on her upper hip.

“You sound surprised,” she murmured, eyes closed.

“I am.” He changed position to take a closer look.

“Why’s that?”

“Dunno. Hadn’t imagined that the serious, professional Isadora had a tat.”

She giggled, turning to look back at him. “Listen to you, Mr. Traditional. Does it shock you?”

“A little. But in a very good way.”

“Mmm. Good, I’m glad.”

“Is it…It looks like an eagle. Had no idea you werethatpatriotic.”

“Not quite,” she smiled. “It’s a swallow-tailed kite. A little raptor. Same family as eagles, but smaller.”

He traced a half-circle around it, captivated by the detail.

“Why a kite?” he asked. She didn’t answer. When he looked up, her chin was resting on her fist, as she passed the pad of her thumb back and forth over her lips. Her eyes met his.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, beautiful,” he said, moving his hand away.

“A kite is one of the representations of the goddess Isis,” she said.

“Ah.” He nodded. “You are quite the gift.”

Bunching the pillow, she turned to face him better, with a multi-watt smile.

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