Page 55 of Parentmoon

“You have a massage tomorrow at ten,” Dallas states.

I turn to him. “I do?”

“Go shopping,” Philip adds, looking at his wife.

For a number of reasons, shopping is the last thing I want to do. I don’t need souvenirs. I already have a mountain of memories and I’m currently wearing the bracelet combination Dallas purchased. Pinks, browns, and a striking band of silver circles my wrist as a reminder of this day. Things really were perfect earlier.

“I have a place we can visit, if you’d like to see a better view of the ocean.”

“Better than this?” Philip waves at the darkening sky and rising moon.

“Sounds wonderful.” Laria’s voice lifts with hope. “How about eleven? After your massage.”

“Sounds good.”

We again exchange a soft smile, like we share a secret.

After dinner, Dallas and I walk down the dock, pinkies still hooked together, like the couples I watched on our first night here. He kisses me, long and lazily, underneath the moonlight, easing my thoughts away from Laria and Philip for a moment.

“You’re taking Laria to our place.” Disgruntled sounding, he pouts while eyeing me with his arms wrapped around my back.

“Our place?” I tease, running my hands up and down his soft shirt, loving the texture in contrast to the tightness of his firm body beneath it.

“Secret Beach.” He squeezes me against him.

“It’s hardly a secret, and rather public.” By the time we left, the area was packed with visitors. Not an empty lounger or vacant cabana remained.

“Still. It’s ours.” He leans down and kisses my nose.

“Another first?” I peer at him, taking in his petulant expression, telling me with his eyes that the place is now special to him. “I’ll always remember I went there with you first, but Laria seems like she needs to get away and you’ll be fishing all day with her husband. I’d feel like a sluff just sitting by the pool again.” Then again, this is a vacation and I’m trying to soak up every second of heat before I return to wintery, mid-March Chicago.

“I want you to be careful.”

His concern shouldn’t surprise me. I appreciate it even as I tease, “What kind of trouble can I get into?”

“Two names. Artie. Ira.”

“They didn’t even speak with me tonight.”

“Both jealous that I staked my claim.” His playful eyes sparkle in the single light over the dock.

“Staked your claim?”

“Hooked ya’.” He links his smallest finger with mine again, locking our hands between us. “Not releasing, though.”

My breath catches. The words sound like a promise, but he can’t possibly mean that. He means he’s not releasing me yet. We still have days to linger through this beautiful island getaway.

My thoughts scatter like the stars overhead when he cups my jaw and kisses me again, long and deep. He’s a comet in the sky, blazing by, trailing heat behind him that’s certain to singe my heart and leave a lasting impression. One that will burn the remainder of my days on this planet.

He eventually breaks the kiss. “Let’s go home.”

The words shouldn’t sound seductive, or even more, like a commitment. He simply means let’s retreat to the house. His house. His island. One I won’t ever return to, but I’ll always have the memories of our moments together here.

Without a response from me, Dallas takes my hand and leads me back down the dock and along the shore to the house.

When we reach the raised patio, he says, “Let’s sit outside for a bit longer. Enjoy the moon.” He motions for me to stay, and he steps inside, quickly returning with cushions for the low wooden beach chairs.

“You have cushions?”