We trudged up the walkway toward the hotel. I’d f****d up. We’d held hands, but I’d chickened out and clammed up regarding making plans for the coming evening. Hell, I hadn’t even mustered the courage for a little hand-squeezing.
The sun would set soon. On one level, I wanted to move into high gear, romance-wise, with candlelight and soft music and sweet gestures. On the other hand, I didn’t have the supplies—candles, speakers other than earbuds to play music on my iPod, etc.—and this was our last night in Honiara until shortly before our return flight to Seattle. On the smaller islands, we’d be sharing the hospitality of the native residents, and privacy for intimate encounters would be scarce to non-existent.
Not that waiting to take things to the next level was necessarily a bad thing
