Chapter 2
Don was buffing our shoes in the bedroom while we casually discussed how we would celebrate St. Valentine’s Day. Maybe, I proposed, after breakdown and cleanup, something light—lobster ceviche—then passionate yet rough s*x somewhere daring, like the walk-in.
His eye roll said okeydokey.
Who was I kidding? The two of us would be so wiped we’d have to hire surrogates for mutual m**********n. I didn’t even have time to run out to Hallmark for a card. We’d do what we did last year: bide our time until spring, probably get a Friday night suite at a spa hotel, see a movie, maybe some sixty-nine if we didn’t drink too much—like last year.
I wish we had a meet-cute story that lent a rom-com burnish to our origin as a couple nearly fourteen years ago, but the salacious reality is Dom
