The last morning at the resort, I find Nick at the breakfast table before the kids are up.
He’s alone. Coffee. His battered paperback open but he’s not reading it. He’s looking at the garden where the fairy lights are off and the dance floor is just a wooden square in the daylight. Smaller than it felt three nights ago. Everything is smaller in the daylight.
My heart does something when I see him. A stutter. A skip. Whatever you call it when your chest forgets its rhythm for half a second because a man is sitting in morning light with messy hair and a coffee cup and the memory of his mouth on yours is so loud you can almost hear it.
I sit across from him. He looks up. His eyes find mine and stay and the kiss is right there between us, sitting on the table like something neither of us order
