“Definitely not,” he responds with a sharp shake of his head.
“Okay. Then, do you want to wear a condom?”
“Well…”
“Because I have an IUD,” I interject. “It’s more than ninety-nine percent effective.”
“How do you know?”
I roll my eyes, dismissing the insult. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”
That comment earns two dimples and a laugh.
He brushes the unruly hair off my face and tucks a strand behind my ear. “How about we nix the condoms, but I pull out? At least for now.”
His tender look of anticipation is endearing.
“Deal.”
He cuts off my smile by pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue demanding entrance like he can’t wait a second longer. He tastes like my toothpaste, cinnamon instead of his usual mint. Gently, he eases me back, then follows, his broad body covering mine. His breath tickles my ear as he peppers kisses along my jaw. Before long, he’s moving lower, his lips trailing down my neck and along my collarbone. He sucks and teases my nipple over my shirt and I squirm beneath him.
He continues his parade of kissesdown, down, down…
I lied.
Thisis the best way to wake up.
I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed such a lazy morning. One without expectations or responsibilities. No precious five-year-olds staining my shirt with sticky fingers. Though I must admit, I miss that five-year-old. Especially when we FaceTime her from the living room and she announces that she misses me.
“Do you miss me, too, Dolly?” Asher asks, his face lit up.
“Nope!” With that, she disappears from view.
When we’ve stared at the fur of a stuffed animal for nearly aminute, Asher calls her name. Rather than Bea, Natalie is the one who picks up the abandoned phone. After a quick update, we end the call.
“I’m sure she misses you,” I console him.
“Oh, I know,” he says, though his assurance sounds a tad contrived. Clearing his throat, he points to the vase on the coffee table. “This is pretty. Where’s it from?”
“Cam and Joey brought it back from Kyoto. It’sKintsugi.”
“Kin-what?”
“Kintsugi. It’s the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. Look.” I pick up the rotund ceramic vase and carefully twirl it around, showcasing the lacquered gold threaded through the royal blue base color. “Have you ever heard ofwabi-sabi?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s a Japanese philosophy of embracing the flawed or imperfect.Kintsugiis similar. The Japanese would repair broken or damaged objects, like this vase, with metal and powdered gold, silver, or platinum instead of throwing them away.”
Asher’s expression is full of fascination as he inspects the vase.
“Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” I say, returning it to its home on the table. “To take something broken and add beauty to it so it can keep on living. Sometimes looking even better than it did before. I like the idea that this vase got a new lease on life. But I’m sentimental like that.”
Lips pursed, he continues analyzing the vase.
I nudge him, and when he finally looks away, I ask, “What should we do today?”
He frowns, like it’s taking him a moment to boot back up. “Whaddaya mean?”
