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 up the courage for a little hand squeezing.
The sun would be setting 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 the 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
