That impermanence should be a relief to Jim as I’m parceled around his edges. He sells medical software to hospitals across the country, so he’s often away working, and then he’s home helping his sons with their homework, watching them play soccer, teaching them how to drive. My time, our time, happens when he’s home and his kids are out. Or on a Friday or Saturday night before their curfew. Now I’m the one having to make allowances for a lover’s attention to his children and his work. But it’s what I respect and love most about him: he takes fatherhood seriously.

I haven’t seen him alone for two weeks. We watched his son play indoor soccer on Saturday night. We were supposed to spend Friday night together, trimming the tree as an anniversary celebration, but his plane home was delayed and by the time he checked on his sons, it was too late. And then on Sunday the younger one twisted his ankle and they were in the ER. I went to the hospital to be with them. We haven’t spent the night together, made love, for several weeks. That’s partly the reason for the sexy dream.

The question remains: Is Jim another chance for intimacy, an attempt at a permanent relationship, or another dodge from commitment? To make matters more complicated, he’s twelve years younger than I am. Forty-five. Just forty-five.

I pull the last sheet from the oven, slide off the cookie-laden parchment, and prepare to start rolling the last six dozen in sugar. Thank God for parchment paper. It makes baking cookies so much easier. I make some more coffee and let one of the finished balls melt in my mouth with its nut and butter and smooth vanilla flavors.

Disney runs to the door, tail wagging, bouncing. Snow dusts Jim’s jean jacket.

“Why, hi! I didn’t expect you.”

“Thought I’d stop by on the way to the airport.” When he brushes my cheek with his lips, the dream returns with all its sensual details. In it, Jim kisses my eyebrows, traced around my eyelashes to the length of my nose. His kisses tasted of cinnamon. And I was all sensation, reception. I hesitated to savor this perfect join, this golden unite. The glow intensified to sharp waves filling me, washing me. The bliss woke me.

The luscious dream surprises me. When was the last time I’ve had a dream like that? It’s been years. Decades. Maybe when Tara was a baby. I thought that squeeze of lust and obstinacy of satisfaction was finished, my desire dimmed by time and menopause. I don’t see Jim enough. But now here he is, surprising me with a visit and kissing my cheek.