The rush of air on Jane’s gradually exposed belly made all the hairs on her body stand on end. It had been a long time since Jane had been undressed by someone else. They were so used to getting into bed already naked. They never took the time to undress each other. Married life had stripped away that small joy.

Annie pushed Jane’s shirt off her shoulders, letting her fingers linger on her skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Annie said. “You always have been.” Annie pressed a kiss on Jane’s shoulder.

So are you, Jane thought, but couldn’t say out loud, not in that moment, because Annie’s hand was diving down, finding the button of her jeans. And they’d settled the beauty debate long ago. Annie had always been adamant she’d won some sort of cosmic lottery when Jane had agreed to go on a date with her, because she was convinced their levels of attractiveness didn’t match up. At first, Jane couldn’t believe that a woman like Annie would say, let alone think, such a thing.

“I’m just your type,” Jane had said. “It’s as simple as that.”

“There’s nothing simple about it,” Annie had replied, and fixed her gaze on Jane in a way that only Annie ever could. Projecting curiosity, understanding, and so much hope for the future all at the same time.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Annie flipped open Jane’s jeans button, then dragged a finger just above the waistline of Jane’s exposed panties. Suddenly, an image of when she had first done so emerged from her memory. The very first time she and Jane had ended up in bed together, two decades ago, and Annie couldn’t believe her luck.

When she’d first seen Jane, she had been so struck by her pale, fine-boned beauty, the thought of asking her out had never even occurred to her. It seemed like the most impossible thing. They would be nothing but a mismatched pair, Annie always older, Jane always younger and of an ephemeral beauty so mesmerizing, Annie would never be able to keep up—or keep her. When she’d first dragged a finger over Jane’s belly the way she was doing now, it had been a slow gesture because of all the hesitation coursing through her. Was that really happening? How on earth had Annie gained the right to skate a fingertip over such exquisitely soft, porcelain skin?

There was hesitation in her gesture now also, but for very different reasons. So much had happened the past twenty years. They had so much life between them. Life that had mostly been kind, but sometimes also unkind. Yet, here they still stood. As long as they had this together, as long as Jane wanted Annie to touch her skin like this, they would be all right. They would make it through.