We’d been riding for a couple of minutes before I noticed the huge dark cloud looming just ahead of us. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Think we should turn around?”
Andrew looked up and put his hand out just as the first crack of thunder broke and a few drops began to fall lightlyfrom the sky. “It’s probably only a summer shower,” he said, “judging from the size of the cloud. Let’s go back for a few minutes, and we’ll try again later.”
As he spoke, it was as if the sprinklers were turned on full blast and the bottom fell out of that cloud. “Oh no,” I said, laughing over the roar of the engine and the beating of the rain on the windshield.
Andrew laughed too. “Note to self: get a T-top.” He pulled me closer as the rain soaked us. “On the bright side,” he said, “there’s nothing more romantic than kissing the most beautiful woman you know with rain pouring down.”
I smiled. “Thatistrue.”
A few minutes later, Andrew was docking the boat, running from the bow to the stern to tie it up, while I stood there uselessly, watching the rain drench my shoes. I took them off, and we ran through the grass, laughing as we finally made it through the front door.
Andrew paused and looked at me. He leaned in to kiss me like he was savoring it, like he was memorizing the moment. I realized that I was memorizing the moment too. He nuzzled my neck and, squatting down and reaching for the bottom of my dress, said, “We can’t possibly go traipsing through your house in these soaking wet clothes.”
I raised my arms over my head, suddenly acutely aware of my near-nakedness. I unbuttoned his shirt very slowly, my mind trying to catch up with my heart.
I was thankful that the lot jutted out into a bit of a peninsula. No one could see us.
I noticed Andrew glance behind me, and I turned to follow his eyes. My wedding photo, in a sterling silver frame, engraved with my monogram and the wedding date. I bit my lip and said, “Sorry.”
“For what?” he asked.
“I should probably take that down now. I guess I was just so used to it—”
He shook his head slowly. “You shouldn’t take it down.”
“No?”
“No. Wagner needs to have that picture to remember that even though it’s over, itwashappy.”
I smiled sadly. “Then why were you looking at it like that?”
Focusing on me with laser precision, Andrew leaned down and kissed me again. Then he whispered, “I was just thinking that if I could ever make you smile like that, I’d make sure I never let you stop.”
I felt his lips moving down my cheek and my neck and my collarbone. “Andrew, I—” I heard myself start to say. But then his lips were on my ear, and he was whispering, “Everything is going to be fine, G,” and whatever objections I was going to raise didn’t seem to matter. I laughed as Andrew carried me up the stairs to my room. And I didn’t think about how I hadn’t done this in well over a year or how this was the bed I had made love to my husband in for all those years or whether my stomach looked flat. I didn’t think about anything at all. I was lost in Andrew and the way he made me feel like none of that mattered now. He saw me, and I finally saw him too, for all the amazing things he really was. He was a man. He was an equal.And he didn’t have to say a word for me to realize that he was all mine.
Later, happy and drowsy and lying on my freshly pressed sheets, I was astounded. I had done it. I had had sex for the first time in twelve years with someone who wasn’t Greg. This feeling—freedom and happiness and fun—was what my life had been missing for more time than I would like to admit. Andrew and I lay in complete silence, lost in that sweet afterglow that I hadn’t felt in so long I had honestly forgotten about it.
In the vulnerability of that moment I said, “I get why Greg left me.” It just gurgled up out of my mouth, and I wanted to pull it back in as soon as it did. Why would I ruin tonight of all nights?
But Andrew just yawned, his hand trailing lazily up and down my back. “Greg is an idiot.”
“I understand the feeling of first-time passion and not wanting it to end,” I continued. “I understand the sweaty palms and beating heart and racing pulse he probably got with Brooke. I get wanting to have that all the time.”
He rested his forehead on mine and whispered, “I get that feeling too.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He kissed me so softly.
“That’s kind of what it feels like when you win your first tennis match,” he said, stroking my cheek with his finger. “You can’t imagine anything ever feeling that good.” He paused. “But then you go to practice every day. You drill and play and hit bucket after bucket of serves. You put in the time. And you win again. And again. And again. It still feels good, but you’re usedto it now. The butterflies are gone, but the joy remains. In so many ways, it’s deeper, and it’s sweeter because you worked so hard for it. You committed to it. And that feels even better.” Here I was, complaining about losing that first-time feeling, and here he was, young and fresh and so incredibly wise. The butterflies end, but it’s the love that’s forming all along the way that really means something.
“Wow,” I said. I looked into those brown eyes, and I felt more than I wanted to let myself feel. “How do you even know that? You’re too young to understand the things you do.”
He shrugged. “You know, Gray, everything in life is a metaphor for pretty much everything else. If you can get one area under control, the others come a lot easier.” He winked at me.
I sighed, that glowy feeling seeping away, remembering that I had no area of my life under control. A familiar panic welled up in me as I realized that, despite what I had promised myself, I wasn’t ready to let him go. But I didn’t want anyone, not even adorable Andrew, to be in Wagner’s life. I felt trapped.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted.
“Do what?”
