“No, Greg. He hasn’t been hanging around since.” I was abruptly exhausted and lifted my tired eyes to my husband. “Give me more credit than that. I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. Jennifer cancelled last minute with strep throat, Matt offered to pitch in—with taking the kids to school, and with the garbage disposal and dishwasher and grocery shopping. The kids like him and I needed the help, so I accepted.” I refused to feel guilty about accepting help . . . I refused. Yep.
Regardless, I still felt guilty for accepting help.
We stared at each other, me sitting on the couch, him hovering behind the large club chair. My throat was tight with regret because we could have been enjoying each other. Instead, we were studying each other, waiting for the other to react. I had to remind myself, it was always like this at first. The first few days and weeks when he returned from abroad were typically strained, like we needed to relearn how to be married. But usually I knew when he was coming home, and I would have time to mentally prepare for it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding and looking remorseful. “I’ve been traveling for almost twenty-four hours, and I’m out of sorts.”
I nodded, giving him a small smile. “Thank you for apologizing.”
“I’m sorry I was . . . rude to the child you used to babysit.”
I barked a small laugh and shook my head.
Greg continued, “I mean, he looks like he’s sixteen. How old is he again?”
“He’s twenty-nine or so.”
“Poor chap hasn’t hit puberty yet.”
“Greg . . .” I made a warning sound in the back of my throat.
“I’ll go easier on him next time. Must be difficult walking the earth as a man-child.”
“He’s only a few inches shorter than you.”
“But with men, a few inches makes all the difference.”
This, of course, made me laugh. Despite my headache, despite the stress of the month and week and day, despite his terrible behavior, I was laughing. Thus was the magic of my husband.
Grinning like he’d won something, Greg moved to the sofa and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to his chest so I was laughing against it.
“I miss your laugh,” he whispered as my laughter tapered, his lips next to my ear. I heard him hesitate before adding with dark desperation, “I’ve missed you.”
His tone gave me pause, the ferocity of the simple sentiment. It sounded like a warning, or a call for help. I lifted my head from his warm chest and glanced at him, searching his face. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, the intensity of his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, the slight frown hovering around his mouth sent a wave of alarmed concern through me.
I lifted my hand to his cheek and gently brushed my thumb over his temple. “Greg, honey, are you okay?”
He stared at me for a long moment. Stormy eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion . . . or maybe something else. As though he couldn’t hold my stare any longer, he pulled me tighter against him and reclined on the couch, pressing my ear to where his heart beat.
“Just lay with me. I want to . . .” He sighed, squeezing me tighter before his hand caressed me through the length of the towel—my back, over my bottom, pausing at my thigh—slipping beneath the parted fabric. “I need to feel your skin.”
We lay together for several wordless minutes, his fingertips skimming over my upper back and shoulders, my thigh and hip in an absentminded caress. I curled against him and kept my eye on the mantel clock, making sure we didn’t loiter too long and neglect picking the kids up on time.
This exit and re-entry into each other’s lives never grew easier. Rather, it became ritualistic, and this first silence was a sacred part of our ritual. We’d been doing this dance for fourteen years: voluntarily leaving each other, then coming back together after a prolonged period. Usually we would lie together, cuddling in silence, until we fell asleep. But we didn’t have that luxury at present, because the kids’ dismissal time was drawing precariously near.
Unfortunately, our wordless cuddling would have to be placed on hold. I was about to break the news when Greg, without any sign or warning, shifted to his side and peeled away the corners of the towel from my chest, stomach, and legs.
“Gorgeous. . .”
I frowned, trying to watch the progress of his hands and his face simultaneously. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get you off, before I leave to collect our delightful children.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “As much as I appreciate the offer, we don’t have time for that.”
“Challenge accepted.” He placed a kiss on my chin, then traced the line of my jaw with the tip of his tongue, ending his exploration by sucking my earlobe into his mouth.
I shivered, tensing. “You just walked in the door. And I haven’t showered yet.”
“You know I don’t mind.”
“But I do.”
“Then I’ll lend a helping hand.”
I was pleasantly trapped between the couch and the wall created by my husband’s long form. I watched as he leaned away, his eyes hungrily moving over my bare skin. He gently brushed the underside of my breasts with the back of his knuckles, making me shiver again.
I sighed, wanting to protest, but finding I had no will to voice a refusal. We hadn’t been physically together since just after Christmas, seventy-nine days ago—but who’s counting?