October, 2015
Pau, France
Zari
In her subconscious mind, Wil’s face appeared in the dim light, his unruly hair a soft halo around his head. He found the pulse point in her neck with his lips, then turned his attention to the hollow at the base of her throat. Her eyelids fluttered, and she breathed in deeply, letting out her breath in a long exhalation of contentment. His lips traced a path down her body, his ministrations to her most secret and sensitive spots made in silence. In a moment, startled by her own cry of pleasure, Zari felt herself surfacing from sleep.
Wil’s deep, languid laugh sounded in response. She sat up in bed, her body tingling with luxurious aftershocks. He rolled back, one hand propped under his head, one hand on her naked thigh.
“Not a bad way to wake up,” he said, grinning.
“I’ll say.” She pulled him up next to her and settled into the crook of his arm. “I had no idea you were so schooled in the art of surprises.”
“I said I would be late getting in, you left me a key, the rest is history.”
He drew a circle around her belly button with a finger.
“How long do we have?” she asked.
“More than forty-eight hours.”
“That’s something to celebrate. I think I’ll start by giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
She kissed him with a ferocity and tenderness she never knew she possessed until Wil entered her life. Zari had never been in love before, had resigned herself to the idea that she simply wasn’t built for it. And then one winter night in Amsterdam, this tall, wild-haired, bespectacled Dutchman had knocked her off her feet. Literally.
It had been her fault. As he was quick to point out that night, she committed a typical tourist error: walking in a bike lane. She smiled, remembering the terrible first impression she’d had of Wil. He seemed superior and dismissive, blaming her for the accident. Her temper flared and she stalked away. Concerned that she was really hurt, he insisted on walking her back to her hotel. Then, out of nowhere, came his rollicking laughter. Its infectious warmth and richness seemed completely at odds with his stern demeanor. And she knew in that moment with utter certainty that she had to hear him laugh again.
The next morning dawned gloriously crisp and bright. They rented bicycles, rode to an outdoor market, and filled their baskets with cheese, bread, fruit, and wine. Pedaling along a narrow lane through fields that bordered a winding river, they watched amber-colored leaves spiral down to the ground, shorn from tree branches by a strong breeze. The white peaks of the Pyrenees loomed over the hills to the south.
When they found the perfect place for a picnic on the riverbank, they spread out their jackets and unwrapped their market goods. Wil’s keychain sported a multitool with a tiny corkscrew. He made a dramatic show of popping the cork out, offering Zari the first swig.
“French people would never drink out of the bottle,” she remarked.
“Everyone drinks out of the bottle if they have to,” Wil said sagely. He cut a slice of goat cheese and handed it to her with a chunk of baguette.
“What was your favorite kind of adventure, back when your whole life revolved around travel?” she asked.
“The cold-weather trips are bad memories now, because of what happened to Filip,” he said after a moment. “I always loved water adventures. Sailing, kayaking. I love the sea. Our sailboat became a tiny world. And I’m a bit obsessed with maps and charts. Tying rope knots, too. Filip and I used to spend hours figuring out these complicated knots.” He smiled, caught in a memory. “We met an Irishman in a harbor once, I think in Greece, who had a ring that looked like a rope knot. It was actually three or four rings that were twisted together.”
Zari nodded. “Puzzle rings. I’ve seen them at art fairs in California.” She remembered his neatly packed backpack on their summer trek along the Camino. “You’re so organized. That’s probably why you love the miniature world of a boat.”
He caught her hand in hers. “Speaking of boats, thank you, Zari.”
“For what?”
“For making the connection with Filip and your brother’s friend.”
“Did they make contact?”
“Yes. Filip’s been invited to join the sailing trip in Croatia next May.”
“Do you think he’ll go?”
A swallow glided past them and swooped to the water line, skimmed something from the surface of the river, and winged away.
Wil propped his head on his hand and followed the movement of the swallow with his eyes. “His family is worried about him. They don’t think he’s ready for a trip like that.”
“What do you think?”
“He wants to go. He told me. But I don’t know if he has the confidence.”
“Why don’t you go with him?”
Wil glanced at her, surprised. “But it’s an adaptive trip.”
“I’m sure not everyone on the boat will be disabled. There has to be a support crew, right? You have tons of sailing experience. Ask if you can help out, be a volunteer sailor.”
“That might work.” He pulled a blade of grass from the soil and twirled it between his fingers. “I’ll look into it.”
“My presentation in Bordeaux is in May, too. I hope the dates don’t clash, because I’d love for you to be there. You can run interference with Dotie Butterfield-Swinton at the reception.”
“Is that what I am to you? A bodyguard?” He grinned and stretched out on his back.
She watched his face relax under the warmth of the sun. Beyond him the river pulsed and shimmered, its murky waters carrying snowmelt from the highest mountain peaks west to the sea. The swallow returned after a while, followed by another. They dipped and glided, tracing complicated patterns in the air, then vanished into a clump of willows on the opposite bank.
Zari rested her head on Wil’s chest. The sun filtered through her eyelashes. Within minutes she was asleep.
After a while she became aware of Wil’s voice in her ear.
“What are you dreaming about?” he whispered.
“I’m not sure if I should tell you.” She sat up, yawning, and pushed her hair out of her face. “Drinking wine during the day is never a smart move.”
He rested his head on his hands and looked at her quizzically. “You can’t help your dreams. It’s your subconscious brain making things up.”
“My subconscious brain doesn’t usually come up with anything this good. I dreamed about beautiful Dutch-American babies, to be perfectly honest.”
A slow smile spread over his face. The tenderness in his dark blue eyes made her pulse tick up a notch.
“How many?” he asked.
“At least two. Maybe three.”
“Move to Amsterdam when this project is finished and we can work on making your dream come true.”
Zari laughed. “You have more imagination than I gave you credit for.”
“What do you mean?” He sat up.
“I think we’d have to try living together for a while before we add any babies to the mix.” She brushed a clump of dried grass off his shirt.
“Live with me, then.” His expression was sober.
Zari sighed, shaking her head. “What would I do there? I have to go where the academic jobs are. I’m on a career path, remember?”
He nodded. “If nothing works in Amsterdam, find something else in Europe and I’ll come to you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I can sublet my place for a while.”
“What about your furniture design business?”
“I can do it anywhere. I can just bring my tools and rent a work space.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious about what I want, Zari.”
He reached out and gently laid his hand on her cheek.