Sherri touched his chest the way she might test an iron to see if it was hot. When she’d allowed herself to think about Arthur, he was a fuzzy abstraction, more an insistent idea than an actual person. Now he was real, and his presence overwhelmed her—intimidated her even, and jostled loose her decision to leave for California. There was the squareness of his jaw, the dip of his sternum, the arc of his clavicles, the patch of dark hair that spread across his chest. She stood on her toes to kiss the tiny scar on his collarbone that nobody else could see or know about unless they got close enough. His skin was soft and slick, and her hand lingered on the nape of his neck. What was it about him that scissored her heart?

“Whose car?” he asked.

“Can we not talk about it?”

“Uh, sure.”

“There’s a lot I don’t want to talk about. Arthur, I need you to take me to bed.”

He led her back inside. The musky scent she associated with his place hit her in the back of the brain. What a fool she was to think she could make a decision to leave Arthur.

The old wooden stairs creaked less now that it was humid and the grain had expanded—everything felt full. Arthur pulled back the quilt and she crawled into his bed. How she’d missed rolling around with him in those soft sheets that smelled like they’d dried on the line outside, reminding her of her childhood. They made love quickly. After, she drifted to sleep to the sound of the curtains rustling in the gentle wind and the distant hum of a ski boat followed by the slap of waves on the shore in its wake.

She slept like a fairy-tale princess. When she finally woke the next day, she had a vague memory of making love to Arthur again in her sleep. He was next to her, propped on one elbow, his other arm resting on the rise of her hip. He smelled like her, she smelled like him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m memorizing you. Every inch.”

She ran her fingertip down the side of his stubbly face. “I’m memorizing you, too,” she said. She vowed to never forget his skin mellow and golden against the white sheets. How could she have left him in the lobby looking for her, oblivious? It was easy to rationalize her behavior when he wasn’t around—they weren’t married, they hardly even knew each other, or at least that’s what she told herself. But in person, it was another story. He seemed so true. So honest and pure. And she’d let him down.

“So,” she said. “It feels like you were gone forever. How was your summer?”

“Remember when you said there’s a lot you don’t want to talk about?”

“Yeah.”