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I didn’t see my husband again for six days.

It would have been longer, I was certain, but I went out of my way to get his attention. I couldn’t seem to help myself. It was an utter failing on my part at self-control.

Because I was starting to crave the taste of him, bitter as the aftertaste may have been.

One of my jobs gave me the perfect opportunity, and it was just too tempting to resist. I was ashamed of my weakness, but even pride didn’t stop me.

I had a shoot that day with a male model for the first time since my wedding. Nothing too scandalous, of course, but I had a feeling it would still do the trick.

The model was Tommy Grace, and I was relieved the instant I saw him on the set. We’d worked dozens of runway shows together over the years. We’d never hung out on our off time or anything, but we were definitely friendly. It would make the shoot considerably less awkward.

The photos were for a sexy Guess Jeans campaign, and they dressed us in matching distressed jeans. My sweater just happened to be missing its midriff, and Tommy wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was a studio shoot so it was warm enough, which was good, because they also kept us both barefoot. My makeup was heavy on the eye glam, with a thick and precise cat eye, and bare on the rest, with natural skin and lips. They teased my hair up high then pulled it back into a chignon. Pin-up meets vintage high fashion was kind of their thing, and it suited me well. This job was going bring my career to the next level. I knew it the moment I saw how they styled me. This was the look that would cement my recognizability.

We were directed to embrace and gaze soulfully at each other. Tommy was a goofball so it was hard to stay serious, but the photographer liked a variety of expressions too so we went with it.

“Your manager lady looks like she wants to charge in and pepper spray me every time I get too close,” remarked Tommy.

He was referring to Asha, of course. And she did. “Ignore her,” I said. “She’s harmless. She just has a powerful resting bitch face.”

Asha was getting easier to ignore by the day. It was glorious.

On a break I fished my phone out. “Want to take a selfie?” I asked Tommy. It was the perfect moment. Asha had left the room to take a phone call.

He grinned. “Of course.” I wasn’t surprised by his enthusiasm. All models loved selfies. He moved in behind me, peeking his head around my shoulder while I held the phone. We took a few smiling, a few with silly faces.

I glanced sideways at his very close face. “Do you mind doing one where you kiss my cheek? I think it’d be cute.”

He didn’t hesitate to accommodate me. I made a kissy face at the camera while he laid pecks on my cheek.

“Will you send those to me?” he asked me when we pulled away. “I want to post, too.”

The photographer was calling us back into position, but I told him that I would as soon as I could.

I studied the images critically on our next break. The funny thing about Tommy being the model they hired was that at first glance, he resembled my husband. He was olive-skinned, with black hair, broad shoulders, and a stubbled jaw. I didn’t think that was a coincidence. The client clearly wanted to cash in on my headline-grabbing marriage.

But in the selfies, there was no way to mistake that he was very much not Calder.

I found the best shot for my purposes and toyed with the lighting. Perfect. He was hugging me from behind while he nuzzled into me, and I blew a kiss to the camera. I’d angled the camera high so you could see his naked shoulders, and it looked like his hand was spread over my bare tummy.

I posted it. On its own the picture could have easily been seen as innocent. Just a snapshot of some very chummy co-workers. It needed the right caption.

Spent the day with an old friend of mine. #reunitedanditfeelssogood #imissedhim #ilovemyjob

I put my phone away and went back to work with an added lightness to my step. For some reason, the very idea that something I did might rile my husband put me in a downright chipper mood.

We were getting close to finishing up. The photographer just wanted a few more varying oddball shots, and we’d been working so long that we were all getting a bit silly.

“We should kiss just to see if her head will actually explode,” Tommy joked. He was referring to Asha the Dour, of course.

I felt my nose wrinkle up. I studied his smiling face, skeptical.

“Not a real kiss, just a little almost lip on lip contact. More about to kiss than actual kissing, ya know? Gerard would be thrilled,” he said, referring to our long-suffering photographer who’d been through several levels of hell dealing with Asha throughout the shoot. “Let’s throw him a bone.”

“He has earned it, poor guy.” Even as we spoke, Asha was laying into him, telling him that he’d had more than enough time to get the shot.

“C’mon,” Tommy cajoled. “Let’s see how almost kissing close we can get before she hits me over the head with something.”

I laughed and made as though to kiss him. Our lips were a breath away. He dipped me a little and my head fell back. He laid one on me. It was a cursory thing. Our lips barely even made contact before we pulled away, still laughing.