He rubbed his hands together. “Holy shit, it’s cold,” he said, sliding his arms into his sport coat. “But I don’t want to sweat my ass off when we get off the plane in Charlotte Amalie.”

“I had the same idea,” I said, pulling on my sweater.

“I might have a…” He opened his closet and pulled something off a hanger before tossing it to me.

I held up the gray hoodie with navy writing that read ESU WILDCATS. It was a men’s medium. “When did you wear this? As a toddler?”

“As a college freshman. You can have it.”

I took off my sweater and pulled his hoodie over my head, feeling extremely foolish about how giddy it made me.

We packed the few things we’d removed from our luggage, and then Thomas carried our luggage downstairs while I brushed the sex tangles from my hair. I made the bed and gathered the dirty laundry, but before leaving, I took one last longing look at the room. This was the site of the beginning of what was to come, whatever that was.

I descended the stairs, grinning at Thomas standing in front of the stove, his father holding the salt and pepper.

Jim shrugged. “No one else but Tommy can make omelets like Diane, so I get them when I can.”

“I’m going to have to try it one day,” I said, grinning even wider when Thomas turned to wink at me. “Where is the laundry room?”

Jim put the spices on the counter and walked over to me with his arms open. “Let me.”

I felt weird about handing Jim those towels, mostly because it was the last thing Thomas and I had each worn before having the best sex of my life, but I didn’t want to argue or explain, so I handed them over.

I walked over to Thomas and slipped my arms around his middle. “If I’d known you could cook, I would have spent more time upstairs.”

“We can all cook. Mom taught me. I taught the boys.”

The butter in the pan popped, striking my hand. I yanked it back and then shook it. “Ow!”

Thomas dropped the spatula on the counter. He took my hand in both of his and inspected it. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

He lifted my knuckles to his lips, tenderly kissing all four of them. I watched him, in awe of how different he was here than the man he was at the office. No one would believe it if they saw him standing in his dad’s kitchen, cooking and kissing the hurt from my hand.

“You’re one of the boys, too,” I said when he turned to check the progress of the omelet.