And then we entered the master bedroom. I came around the corner and saw him standing at the end of the hallway, just outside the door.

“What the hell did you find that has you so qui—oh my. Would you look at that?” I stopped next to him, admiring from the doorway.

If my life had a soundtrack, the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey would have been playing right now.

There, in the middle of a corner room, with its own terrace overlooking the most beautiful ocean in the world, was the biggest mother-loving bed I’d ever seen. Carved out of what looked to be teak, it was as big as football field. Thousands of silky soft white pillows stacked against the headboard, spilling down over a white duvet. It was folded down just so, the million or so thread count sheets shining, actually shining, as though they were lit from within. Sheer white curtains hung from rods suspended over the bed, creating a canopy, while even more curtains hung in the windows overlooking the sea below. The windows were open and all the curtains blew gently in the breeze, giving the entire room a billowy, flouncy, windblown effect.

It was the bed to end all beds. It was the bed that all the little beds aspired to be when they grew up. It was bed heaven.

“Wow,” I managed, still in the hallway next to Simon.

It was hypnotic. It was like a bed siren, luring us in so we could crash.

“You could say that again,” he stammered, his eyes never leaving the bed.

“Wow,” I repeated, still staring.

I couldn’t stop, and I was suddenly very, impossibly, excruciatingly nervous. I had a lovely case of performance anxiety, party of one.

Simon chuckled at my weak joke, and it brought me back to him.

“No pressure, huh?” he said, eyes shy.

Huh? Nerves? Party of two? I had a choice. I could go with conventional wisdom, said wisdom being that two grownups on vacation together in a gorgeous house with a bed that was sex incarnate would immediately begin nonstop sexing…or, I could let us both off the hook and just enjoy. Enjoy being together and let things happen when they happen. Yeah, I liked this idea better.

I winked and took a running leap on to the bed, bouncing pillows all over the room. I peeked over the remaining mound to see him leaning in the doorway, a sight I had seen so many times before. He looked a little nervous, but still beautiful.

“So, where are you sleeping?” I called, and his face relaxed into a smile, my smile.

“Wine?”

“Am I breathing?”

“Wine it is,” he snorted, selecting a bottle of rosé from the generously stocked wine fridge. Simon had arranged to have some basic groceries delivered to the house before our arrival, nothing fancy but enough to nosh on and make us comfortable. It was now fully dark, and any thoughts we’d had about going into town faded away as the jet lag loomed. Instead we’d stay in tonight, get a good night’s sleep, and head into town in the morning. There was a roast chicken, olives, a wedge of Manchego, some gorgeous looking Serrano ham, and enough other little odds and ends to make a meal. I assembled plates while he poured the wine, and soon we were sitting on the terrace. The ocean crashed below, and the wooden walkway down to the beach was strung with tiny white lights.

“We should go down to the beach before bed, at least take a little walk.”

“Done. What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“Depends, when do you need to start working?”

“Well, I know some of the places I need to go, but I need to do a little scouting still. Want to come along?”

“Of course. Start in town in the morning and see where that leads?” I asked, nibbling on an olive.

He raised his glass and nodded. “To seeing where it leads,” he toasted.

I raised my glass to his. “I’ll second that.” Our glasses clinked and our eyes locked. We both smiled, a secret smile. We were finally alone, all to ourselves, and there was no place else on the planet I wanted to be. We ate our dinner, stealing little glances at each other throughout, and sipped our wine. It made me drowsy, and a little touchy feely.

After that we’d picked our way carefully over the rocky shoreline to the beach. We’d grasped hands to navigate but never let go. Now we stood at the edge of the earth, the strong, salty wind whipping through our hair and clothes, buffeting us back a bit.

“It’s nice, being with you,” I told him. “I, um, well, I like holding your hand,” I admitted, feeling brave from the wine. Witty banter had its place, but sometimes, all you need is the truth. He didn’t respond, simply smiled and brought my hand to his mouth, placing a small kiss.

We watched the waves, and when he pulled me to his chest, snuggling me to him, I breathed out slowly. Had it really been so long since I’d felt—Oh, what was it I was feeling?—cared for?

“Jillian told me you know what happened to my parents,” he said so softly I could barely hear him.

“Yes. She told me.”

“They used to hold hands all the time. Not for show, though, you know?”

I nodded into his chest and breathed him in.

“I always see these couples that hold hands and make such a show of it, calling each other baby and sweetie and honey. It seems like, I don’t know, false somehow. Like, would they be doing it if they weren’t in front of anyone?”

I nodded again.

“My parents? I never thought much about it at the time, but when I think about it now, I realize their hands were practically sewn together, always with the hand holding. Even when no one was looking, right? I’d come home after practice and find them watching TV, at either end of the couch, but with their hands propped up on a pillow so they could still be touching…It was just…I don’t know, it was nice.”

My hand, still tucked into his own, squeezed, and I felt his strong fingers squeeze back.

“Sounds like they were still a couple, not just a mom and dad,” I said, hearing his breath speed up a bit.

“Yes, exactly.”

“You miss them.”

“Of course.”

“Might sound weird, since I never knew them, but I feel like they would be so proud of you, Simon.”

“Yeah.”

We were quiet another minute, feeling the night around us.

“Want to go back to the house?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He kissed the top of my head as we began to make our way back—hands stuck together like someone had spread Krazy Glue on them.

I’d left Simon to clean up the mess from dinner. I wanted a quick shower before bed. After washing away the days of airport and travel, I threw on an old T-shirt and boy shorts, too tired for the lingerie I had packed. Yes, I had packed lingerie. Come on, I was no nun.