I take his hand in mine, lace my fingers with his. The gesture surprises him, and even me. He looks at me cautiously and smiles again.
We don’t say a word. We simply sit there, watching our girls as they splash around under the fountains in their matching blue polka-dot bathing suits.
This is happiness.
It wasn’t so hard to find again, after all. It was there all along. I simply chose not to see it.
Gwen pops by later in the afternoon. Greg is working this week and she’s a little bored. She looks as fabulous as always in a tangerine summer romper with a cream-colored gold-accented belt and wedged sandals, her toes painted a matching coral.
“So what does Manny have on the menu tonight?” she asks, all smiles.
I bring my finger to my lips, shushing her. The last thing I need is Gabe finding out I had a personal chef. He would never let me live it down.
“I let him go,” I tell her. “Didn’t really need his services anymore. Who cares what I eat now, right?”
“Damn,” she says, her perfectly groomed brows furrowed. “I’m going to miss that little French hottie.”
I laugh. “Uh-huh…”
“You know…because of the delicious food and all.”
“Riiiight,” I tease.
“Aren’t you going to miss those adorable tiny bowls of mousse?”
“I will,” I admit. “You know how I like tiny things.”
She smiles with a head-to-toe sweep of Gabe who’s just bounded down the stairs. “Apparently not with everything.”
I glare at her with a huge grin.
“Hi Gwen,” Gabe says, completely clueless. “How are you?”
She shrugs. “I’ve had better days. I just lost my very cute and talented personal chef.”
He cocks a brow. “Wow, didn’t realize you had your own chef. You sure are living the life.”
“I try,” she says with a tilt of her head.
“Well, tonight you’re going to have to make due with Gabe’s spaghetti and meatballs,” I tell her.
She winces. “Is it edible?”
I laugh. “Yes. It better be. He won’t let me cook.”
“Hold on to that one,” she says. “Hold on tight.”
We have a wonderful dinner together, talking about anything and everything. I almost forget about the whole drama. Both Gwen and I are impressed with Gabe’s spaghetti, which is amazing. It’s his mom’s recipe. I know how his mother loves to cook and I know she’s taught him a thing or two. I suppose he simply chose not to practice his skills before.
I like this new Gabe.
I’m in the middle of a book when Gabe knocks at my (our) bedroom door. The book in question is a little spicy. I know I really shouldn’t be reading these kinds of novels in my present state of abstinence. He shoots me an adorable off-kilter smile. He’s shirtless again. This somehow bothers me now. He always walks around the house shirtless, especially in the summer months. This is nothing new. I’ve never really paid attention before, but for some reason, I notice now. I really notice; the tanned inked skin, the gorgeous shoulders, the sculpted six-pack, the V shape of his lower abs. I notice it all.
Put on a shirt.
I sit up straight, keeping the book wide open on my lap. I don’t want him to see what I’m reading. “Um…yes, Gabe?”
My heart actually starts to beat a little faster as he steps into our bedroom, taking in his surroundings like he’s never been in here before. “I wanted to give you something,” he tells me with a smile.
“Sure,” I say, curious.
He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls two small pieces of paper from his pocket. “I wanted to do something nice for you,” he tells me as he hands them to me.
They’re adorable homemade coupons: one for a ‘Foot Massage’ and one for a ‘Back Massage’.
I smile. “Wow, you haven’t given me one of these in a while.”
“I know. It’s been too long.”
Why is he being so good to me? After everything I’ve done? He has always followed the rules, but I didn’t. I got emotionally involved, and deep down, I always knew I would. Yet, despite knowing this, I still chose to fall into this arrangement, and I betrayed my husband knowingly. The last thing I deserve is a foot massage.
I bite my lip. “You don’t need to do this. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but I’m fine. I promise.”
He shakes his head. “You know you want it,” he teases with a playful smile.
He’s right. I do. The idea of a massage sounds real good right