She wasn’t glad to see him. He knew that, but he stood there anyway.

“I don’t need anything.”

It was tempting to lie, and say I know. To humour her and let her think she could hide from him like she was hiding from the rest of the world. To give her that false sense of security. Fuck, he knew she needed it in this moment. Would feel fragile, being seen by him.

But the truth was, she was barely hanging on, and although she wasn’t open to help, not yet, she needed a lot. Money. A strong shoulder to cry on. Probably a good fuck, if Malcolm’s stories about their sex life were to be believed.

I go to him in a feverish panic. Climb into his lap and grab his hands, pulling them to my belly.

“It aches," I whine in the soft, needy voice that he’s told me he loves. I imagine my begging words wrapping around his brain stem and squeezing tight. Flipping that Daddy switch.

God damn it. He hadn’t meant to finish inside her. One minute they were wrestling, a playful tussle because he’d been gone for two weeks and they’d missed each other desperately, and then they were kissing—roommates aren’t for kissing, but her lips were sweet magic against his, he couldn’t help it—and then her sundress slipped up her curvy thighs and that first brush of his hand against her cotton panties...

"Remember when we had all the time in the world?"

"Off."

She giggled. "And we'd just make out for--"

"I said off. Get these off. Now."

It starts with a text message, a joke, and a not-at-all-joking reply.

Him: What do you want to do tonight?
Me: I just got new thigh high socks...where do you think I should wear them?
Him: My lap. Let's stay in.

It was their ninth date, if you counted the two "accidental" lunches they shared before she agreed to a real date after work, and he did. He counted everything, and worried a little that she might realize just how all-in he was for her before she felt the same way back.

The last thing he wanted was to come on too strong.

But fuck, he really liked her.

Loved her, if he was being honest, and he was, but only in the quietest inside voice.

I see her before she sees me, because she's wearing headphones and dancing up a storm in my kitchen.

And clearly she doesn't know I'm here, because she's wearing a black push up bra and a pair of black panties...and nothing else.

I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. 

It shouldn’t be unexpected. They loved each other with all their hearts, and they’d been in love for more than a decade. But there had been gentle lulls there where sex faded to a few times a week (or even less often when the kids were very little). So the last few months of dirty texting and them being in synch? And now the kids were still asleep, a small miracle?

“It’s cold!”

“Chicken.” But the way he said it, she didn’t feel teased. She felt seen, and it warmed her all the way to her heart.

Danger, her brain warned her heart. That warmth isn’t going to last for more than this week.

She knew he was a special forces guy. She knew when he went back to California, it wouldn’t be for long, and then he’d be off on a secret mission somewhere to parts unknown. He’d made it clear he wasn’t a forever bet, just a this week bet.

But he saw her.