“Oh, heavens no,” I said. “Just proving to my partner that anything he can do, I can do better.”
She chuckled. “In that case, this glass of Malbec is on the house.”
“Thank you,” I said with a bright smile.
She nodded and moved to the other end of the bar to take an order. I sipped my wine, all the better because it was free, and thought about how I would collect on my bet with Ken. I could simply take him for twenty dollars, but I was thinking about calling in a sexual favor because we’d been a little out of sync in recent weeks.
As I sipped, I considered a plan involving a piece of lingerie I’d been saving for a special occasion. Maybe, to quote the great poet Janet Jackson, “Someday Is Tonight.” The more I thought about it, the more determined I was to reconnect with Ken. We’d each been doing a lot of work for our PI firm, and one could expect to hit the sexual doldrums from time to time in a long-term relationship—especially if there was a significant age gap—but that was no excuse for letting things get stale.
I pushed away thoughts of my fortieth birthday.
The good thing about being so much younger than your paramour was that if you were turning forty, then he was well ahead of you. Sure, gravity had necessitated push-up bras, but his body was beginning to show signs of wear and tear, too. We were both beyond a search for the Fountain of Youth.
We’d also decided not to have kids and had saved our money judiciously, so we would be able to retire in ten years or so. Then we would finally travel to the South of France, just as Ken had promised me—an entire month, he said.
I was lobbying for a trip to Champagne as well. Surely there were trains that could take you all around France. Maybe Paris or Bordeaux, too. Heck, why not spend a week in the South of France and spend the other three weeks traveling all over Europe?
I daydreamed about the logistics of this new plan for a good long while and looked down to see my glass empty. I left a fiver as a tip and walked to my car, still working on ways to get things going between us once again. Buoyed by thoughts of France, I drove out of my way to duck into Kroger only minutes before it closed and grabbed a bottle of champagne.
Ken would be beyond surprised to see me.
He’d been sure I couldn’t serve this particular set of papers, and he knew I would stay in my car all night if I had to. I couldn’t wait to slide into bed with what we used to call “No Reason Champagne” while wearing my new lingerie.
We’d go through our comedic bit for the first time in a long while. He’d say, “What’s that?”
I’d say, “Champagne.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Then he would smile and kiss me and say, “I love ‘No Reason Champagne.’”
I parked my car just down the street from our bungalow and practically tiptoed into the house, choking back giggles. As I neared the bedroom, I grew bolder.
Why bother with lingerie?
I might ruin the surprise with the creak of my ancient dresser’s drawers, and I definitely didn’t want to turn on the lights.
Instead, I paused in the hall and put down the bottle so I could strip down to nothing.
As I opened the bedroom door, it whined. I froze.
Snoring continued.
Exhaling with relief, I gave my eyes a minute to adjust, but it was beyond dark in our bedroom because Ken couldn’t stand to have the sun hit him full force in the morning. I held a hand in front of me even though I knew where I was going—stubbing my toe would put an end to all my romantic plans, so better safe than sorry.
I crept to my side of the bed and pulled back the covers, sliding in and immediately hitting a body. Why was Ken on my side of the bed? And why did he smell like vanilla? Most importantly, why did he have boobs?
“Don’t stop now,” a woman’s voice said as I removed my hand, then froze.
Move, Stella. At least get back to the hall, where your clothes are.
But my body didn’t listen.
Ken yawned. “Don’t stop what?”
“What you were doing,” she said.
