I smile and stretch up, trying to keep still while we kiss. The hammock sways alarmingly, but we stay put.
“I’m lucky too,” I tell him when our lips separate. “I love you.”
He pinches my cheek. “Love you too. So, we should think about buying this place, don’t you think?”
“Just like that?”
“You love it here, don’t you?”
“I do. I love everything about the villa.”
“Well, let’s do it then.”
“We can do that?”
“I got an offer on the South of France house.”
“Really? And you’d take it?” The house was his godmother’s, and she left it to Reuben.
“I’ll be sad to see it go, but it’s full of ghosts, Xavi, and we’re not about that anymore.”
I kiss him. “No, we’re really not,” I say softly.
“Besides, the house needs to be lived in. It needs loud voices and laughter, and we’re not there much now.”
“I don’t want you to sell a house to buy this place. That’s wrong.”
“Will it make you happy to live here?”
“Of course.”
“Then yes, we’ll do it. I happen to like you happy.”
“Well, pat yourself on the back because you’re the cause of most of it.” I eye him. “It can’t just be for me. I’m not having that.”
He drops a kiss on my temple, nosing in amongst the waves. “It would be for me too. I like it here. I love the island, and I think we’re building a life here.”
I shake my head as excitement stirs. “We can really do it.”
He nods. “I heard the owner is thinking of selling, and he’d be happy if we’re the ones to buy it.”
“I’m sure he would be happy. Otherwise, he might lose his pétanque partner.” I often find Reuben in the village drinking pastis and playing pétanque with the local men. It seems loosely connected to bowls, but that’s as much as I’ve picked up about the game. I look around. “We’ll have to extend the kitchen.”
He laughs. “Good job I just signed a new book contract then.”
I sit too quickly, and he groans as we’re once more jettisoned out of the hammock. Bernard thinks this is a wonderful game and climbs out of the pool to shake himself over us while I laugh and Reuben curses.
Eventually, he manages to send him to fetch his ball again, and I scramble onto Reuben’s lap, straddling him and pinning his hands to the ground.
“Xavier, what ishappening?” He’s laughing so hard that it’s difficult to understand his words. “I’m not that sort of boy.”
I pinch his nipple. “You are exactly that sort of boy.” As he laughs, I demand, “What book have you sold?”
He winks at me. “A tattoo photography book.”
My mouth drops open. “That is a fuckingepicidea.”
“I do have a few,” he says modestly.
