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“I’m only wearing a tank top and shorts.”

He grins. “Like I said. Too many clothes.”

We walk into the bedroom. I don’t think we’ve ever once had sex anywhere else. Harper calls it boring, but there are far worse things than a boyfriend who’s a tiny bit predictable. His shirt comes off, his pants follow, and he slides into bed, pulling me against him.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to go without for a whole month,” he says against my mouth.

I nod in agreement, although we’ve only slept together a few times since he started work on this merger, so I’m not sure a month apart is really going to feel all that different.

He rolls me on my back. "Jesus,” he groans, already hard, pressed against my stomach. “It's been so long. This is going to be over before it starts.”

I tell myself I don’t mind, but my thoughts flicker briefly to the idea of Harper’s imaginary hot factory guy before I can stop myself. I bet sometimes it’s over with the hot factory guy before it starts too.

9

Erin

Present

Rob calls dutifully after he arrives in Amsterdam, and each day after that, but the eight-hour time difference makes it hard—one of us is always just getting up, just going to bed, or at work. I wish he would do a video call, so I could see his face, but he says it’s “off-putting.”

The days without him drag on interminably, as I knew they would. It’s not that my life is so different with Rob gone…it’s just that it feels a little pointless. The house has been empty when I get home for months, but now it feels different, more vacant and mocking. When Rob was here, that feeling was temporary. Now it is not. There’s just me, with no one to talk to all weekend, and five weekdays spent at a job that makes me miserable. I come home each night wanting something, and I have no clue what it is. I go to sleep, knowing there’ll be no warm body beside me in the morning. And I’m not sure when, exactly, my life turned so empty that a warm body would be the only thing to look forward to in the first place.

* * *

I’m still at the office when Rob calls toward the end of the week. It’s two in the morning in Amsterdam, and he’s just getting in, which has been the case most of the nights he’s been there. He tells me first about dinner with the team in an old pirate radio station, and then he details the bar crawl that ensued afterward.

I shouldn’t be jealous, but I’ve been at work for nine hours and have big plans for a night in with Mr. Tibbles, Rob’s cat, and possibly a delicious bowl of cereal for dinner. My unhappiness isn’t Rob’s fault, but knowing that intellectually doesn’t seem to puncture the small bubble of resentment in my chest, a bubble that swells every time we talk and he tells me yet another story about fancy dinners and wild nights he’s enjoying without me.

I make appropriate sounds of interest about the the meal and the bars and the shots he did. I agree that Benchley, a guy they hired last year, is super funny. When the conversation lags, he asks if I got a chance to look at reception sites over the weekend, and I make weak excuses that we both know aren’t true.

“I meant to,” I tell him. “But this weekend was so busy.”

“Okay,” he says, the affection in his tone now absent. “Well, I should probably get to sleep. Love you.”

I start to tell him I love him too, and that I’m sorry I haven’t done more work on the wedding, but he’s already hung up the phone.

* * *

On Saturday morning, some yard equipment is delivered to the house. I’d forgotten we even rented it, back before Rob’s trip was extended. I’m sure he forgot as well, but I’m still annoyed that I’m the one stuck with the job. This is my first yard, and I have never even used a lawn mower, much less something designed to pull clods of earth from the ground and spread seed.

So I’m already in a sub-par mood when Brendan strolls into the yard, wearing khaki shorts and a T-shirt just fitted enough to assure you he is all muscle beneath it. I’ve seen signs of his presence over the past few days, but no evidence of the man himself until now. I wish it had stayed that way.

“Aerating the yard?” he asks with that ever-present smirk. “What an amazing way to spend a Saturday. Marriage looks so awesome.”

"We’re not married.” My voice is clipped, tense, precise. I promised Rob I’d be nice, but already it’s taking all of my effort just to be civil.

"Oh, right. It's after you've said your vows that it gets really exciting."

Ignore him, Erin. Ignore him. Pretend he’s not there long enough, and eventually he won’t be. I crouch down to look at the engine, hoping he’ll be gone when I stand.

"Staring at that thing isn’t going to make it turn on.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks, farmer boy. I knew you’d prove helpful.”

"Go sit in the shade and look pretty,” he says, pulling the handle away from me. “I’ll do it.”

"I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of—"