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“Hmm,” he grunts, kissing the top of my head. “No complaints so far. We’ve already got into our little routine. We wake, go for our morning swim in the sea, bathe and eat, then we spend the rest of the morning working on our novel.”
“Ah yes, how’s your space opera coming along?”
“Not too bad,” he says, releasing me and going to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s still early days. We’re about a quarter of the way into the writing, though we’ve already worked out our plot.”
I kick off my sandals and slip my dress over my head. I’ve been wearing it ever since we arrived on Ven. Under it, I’m in my Krovatian loin cloth. Wyatt surveys me from head to toe, taking in my latest body art. “Very nice,” he drawls.
“Thanks.” I go to sit beside him.
“How’s Kirimor’s arm? I noticed he was still favoring his left earlier.”
Kirimor’s arm is still healing from an accident while playing bong at the water city a few weeks ago. He fractured the bone which had to be set, and the cast has only recently been removed.
“He’s a lot better. He’s being extra careful with it, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll grow in confidence using that right arm again in no time. Let’s hope he’s learned his lesson about playing bong at his advanced age.”
Wyatt snorts. “Unlikely! I’ll take a look at it later. Perhaps I can massage it to help the healing along.” It’s been a long time since Wyatt has practised as a chiropractor, but the skills and knowledge are still there.
“While you’re at it, can you take a look at my left shoulder? I don’t know what’s the matter with it. Maybe I slept on it wrong, or I’ve just strained it reading on my communicator. I don’t feel it during the day, but when I lie down at night, I get the occasional pain shooting down that arm.”
“Lie on your stomach, let me have a feel.”
I do as instructed. He presses a few points along my shoulder blade and I moan. “Yes, right there.”
He chuckles, kneading the sore spots until I’m close to purring with pleasure.
“Ah, that’s what I’ve missed these last few months. Your healing touch,” I grunt as he presses down on a particularly painful joint.
“Not my irresistible charm?”
“That too.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Kirimela enters the room. “Melinda, are you alright?” she asks in concern.
I hold out my arm in invitation and she climbs on the bed with us. Kirimela, at nine years of age, is the product of that fateful union between Pirofena and Kirimor. She has Kirimor’s dark hooded eyes, his hair, his cheek bones, his smile. She also has his deep loving nature. The child whose conception caused me so much pain has ended up becoming one of the greatest blessings of my life. I love her as my own.
“I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Just letting Wyatt ease some aches in my old body.”
She sits beside us, observing his actions. “Wyatt, will you teach me how to do this, so I can help Melinda when we’re back home?”
Wyatt smiles warmly at her, “Of course, honey. I’d be happy to demonstrate a few moves. That way you can take good care of both Melinda and your pa when I’m not around.”
He goes on to do just that while I close my eyes and enjoy my massage.
???
Kirimor
The children have gone to sleep, and Melinda and I are finally alone in our bed chamber. She gets under the covers beside me and out of habit, I wrap my tail around her as I tuck her to my side. “How was your catch-up with Wyatt,” I ask, kissing the soft fragrant flesh of her neck.
“He and Rivlor seem well settled here. This life suits them.”
“You do not think he will miss gallivanting about in space?”
“Perhaps occasionally, but I believe there will be adventure enough in the stories they’re both writing together. By the way, he said he’d take a look at your arm.”
I grunt.
“Did you speak to Kiristen?” she asks.
