“Show me,” he says through kiss-swollen lips. “Show me how we were.”
“You’re not getting the idea?” I ask, looking down at him, lightly scratching my nails over his abdomen.
“I mean,” he says, smiling up at me as he tucks a fallen strand of hair behind my ear, “I want to watch how you get off onme.”
And as I sink down onto him, I kick my thoughts back to the surface—away from the intensity of sensation, the obliterating relief of being filled with him again—so I can watch the wonder and lust and adoration play across his features.
And this, this is instinct, the way our synchrony in lovemaking comes so naturally, so immediately. But as we move together and chase the shattering relief of pleasure; as he watches where we’re joined; as his hands explore and grab and tease and please; as we whisper love and praise and begging into the diffuse light of our hotel room, I become aware of something much more profound: Our bodies have long known each other in a way that our minds haven’t, at least not until recently. They were simply holding this secret for us, keeping it safe and sacred, waiting for our minds to catch up to the depth of what we have.
Just like before, Luca seems to know I’m going to come before I do.
“Oh, fuck yes, Em. Yes. Like that.” He reaches up to press one hand against the headboard and grips my hip with the other. The feeling builds low in my belly, and I brace both of my hands on his chest, shifting where I need to until I’m moving over him in just… the right…
There…
There…
Luca sits up, tilts my mouth toward him, and at the taste of my name on his lips, the feel of his body tensing beneath me, I come apart.
“I love you,” he says into my mouth, and I am obliterated and put back together again in the familiar embrace of my husband’s arms.
In the car the next morning, I’m not sure who’s more excited about our hike: Honey, who is practically vibrating in the back seat; Luca, who has his head out the window taking everything in; or me, wanting to catalog his every reaction. I have the benefit of my memories, but Luca is seeing one of his favorite places again for the first time. I would never dream of saying that what happened to him was a good thing, but there’s something undeniably magical about it. How many people get a second chance?
Our hike starts in a quiet forest corridor. I’d been happily surprised when I checked online and saw that a bunch of the trails had been updated, and Luca barely limps as we move from raised boardwalks and paved paths to dirt trails cut into the brush by the footfalls of hundreds of people before us. The hike to the bottom of the falls is about a mile. Honey is pretty much walking us as she tugs on her leash and leads the way, sniffing everything we pass, including trees, people, and one very large bumblebee with whom she has a close encounter.
As we walk deeper, the sky is swallowed by shade, only fingertips of sunlight threading through pines and managing to reach the forest floor. Luca holds my hand the entire way. He points out wildflowers and whitebark pine. He rattles off facts about the different lichens covering a cliff wall or a tree. This one is used as an indicator of pollution levels. Don’t touch the black one, it’s poisonous. This one needs water to live, but that yellow one thrives in the heat of an exposed rock face.
“Where did you learn all this?” When I’m stable again, my feet on higher ground, our faces level, I tap his forehead. “Just hardwired in there?” Luca is one of the smartest, most knowledgeable people I know.I paid a fortune for my degrees. That Luca learned so much without sitting in a classroom will never not impress me.
Looking up, he grins when he notices our position. “Must be,” he says, and presses his mouth to mine.
“You’re amazing,” I tell him, smiling into the kiss. “An actual miracle.” My miracle.
The forest is quiet enough for us to hear birds in the branches overhead, the crunch of our shoes over pine needles and damp earth as we continue. I have the benefit of my memories, but as we near the bottom, even I’m taken by surprise. The gentle murmur of water is replaced by a sound that gets louder with every step until it’s a roar, impossible to ignore. The trees part, mist spinning in circles and cooling the air. Luca stares wide-eyed at the crashing water in front of us.
People buy postcards with this view, paintings and photo prints to hang in their homes, T-shirts, and even commemorative coins to capture this place and keep it with them. But when Luca grins at me and takes me in his arms, his whisperedlove youswallowed by the sound of the roaring falls, I know I’ll only remember this.
Later that night, exhausted and giddy and slightly sunburned, we make our way back to the hotel. Finally in our room, Honey nose-dives into her bed, but we aren’t quite ready to settle in. Deciding a glass of wine is in order, we head to the lobby bar. A cover band is playing on a small stage in the corner, and when they strum the opening notes of “First Day of My Life,” Luca takes my hand and leads me out to the empty dance floor. There in his arms, I realize I’m still someone who dances. But only with him.
If it wasn’t for Honey, who has been a saint this entire trip but has clearly had enough, we would never leave the enormous, feather-filledperfection that is our hotel bed. After a lot of dramatic sighing, we disentangle ourselves from the sheets on Monday morning, dress in the softest clothes we have, pick up coffee in the lobby, and take our girl outside. There may be some who don’t find it romantic to kiss as the sky brightens over the forest while your dog does her business a short fifteen feet away, but I promise it is. Everything with Luca is romantic, and while part of me never wants to leave this place, I’m excited to explore this new life. Together.
It’s a long drive, but we leave early enough to make it home in record time. Luca carries our bags into the house while I let Honey outside to terrorize the squirrels. I find Luca in the bedroom and immediately groan at the mess of clothes already on the bed.
“I hate unpacking,” I tell him. “The only benefit of never going anywhere is that you never have to unpack.”
Not ready to return to real life, I push him down and climb over him.
“Hello there,” he says, smiling up at me.
“Hi.” Bending, I set my mouth on his, feeling victory in the way he pushes up to deepen the kiss, the low growl in his throat. From somewhere beneath him, a phone vibrates.
“Ignore it,” I say, already breathless at the feel of his fingers moving under my shirt.
“Fine by me.”
The vibration stops for a moment before starting up again. I sigh. “Okay, hold that thought.” I kiss him again before searching the bed. “That could be Annie, and I promised to keep her updated.” Finding it, I turn it over and stare down at the screen.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
