'These are for you,' he says. 'Sorry. They're kind of dying already.'
'I love them,' I say. 'Thank you.'
He follows me into the kitchen as I look for a vase to put them in. I point to my favorite blue one in my top cupboard, just out of my reach. 'Can you get that for me?'
He retrieves the vase and sets it on my counter as I begin trimming the stems and arranging them. I am a domestic goddess as far as he can tell.
'We did it,' Dex whispers into my ear.
Goose bumps rise on my arms. I manage to get the flowers in the vase and add a little water before turning around to kiss him. His neck is warm, and the back of his hair is still damp from his haircut. He smells of cologne, which he doesn't usually wear. Of course, I am also wearing perfume, which I don't usually wear. But this is a special occasion. When you are used to snippets of time, our stretch of days might as well be forever. The way I feel reminds me of bursting off the bus on the last day of school before summer vacation. No worries except what to do first-ride bikes, go to the pool, or play Truth or Dare with Darcy and Annalise in my cool, unfinished basement. Today I know what I want to do first and I am pretty sure we will be doing it soon. I kiss Dex's neck as I inhale his sweet skin and the scent of lilies.
'This weekend is going to be out of control,' he says, sliding my tank top over my head, letting it fall at our feet. He unhooks my bra, cups my breasts and then my face. His fingers press the back of my neck.
'I'm so glad you're here,' I say. 'I'm so happy.'
'Me too,' he says, as he works on my button-fly.
I lead Dex over to my bed and remove his clothes, admiring his body from every angle, kissing him in new places. On the back of his knees. On his elbows. We have time.
We make love slowly, each of us stopping the other at various points until we can't stand it any longer, and then reversing in the other reckless, breathless direction. He feels more mine than he ever has, and I know why: he is not going home to her tonight. He will not have to wash off, or check for signs of our togetherness. I sink my nails into his back and pull him harder against me.
After we make love, we order food from the diner and eat burgers by candlelight. Then we climb back into bed, where we talk and listen to music, fighting through waves of fatigue so that we can savor our time together, not waste it sleeping.
Our only interruption comes around midnight, when Dex says he should probably phone Darcy. I tell him it's a good idea, wondering whether I should give him privacy or stay in bed beside him. I decide to go to the bathroom, let him do his thing. I run water so I can't hear any piece of their conversation. A minute later, Dex calls my name.
I open the door a crack. 'Are you off?'
'Yeah. C'mere. You didn't have to leave.'
I get back in bed beside him, find his hand.
'Sorry about that,' he says.
'No problem. I understand.'
'Just taking precautions… I figure she won't call now. I told her I was on my way home to bed.'
'What is she doing?'
'They're all at the Talkhouse. Drunk and happy.'
But we are sober and happier, all tangled up in my sheets, our heads resting on one pillow. When Dex sits up to blow out the candle burning on my windowsill, I notice that trimmings from his haircut have transferred from his neck to my white pillowcase. There's something about those tiny black hairs that makes me so happy I want to cry.
I close my eyes so that I won't.
At some point, we fall asleep.
And then morning comes.
I wake up, remembering the first morning we woke up together, the panic that gripped my heart on that Sunday I turned thirty. The feeling I have now could not be more different. Calm joy.
'Hi, Rachel.'
'Hi, Dex.'
We are both grinning.
'Happy Fourth of July,' he says, his hand resting on my inner thigh.
'Happy Fourth.'
'It's not your typical Fourth. No fireworks planned, no picnics, no beach. You okay with that?' he asks.
'Yeah. I'm okay with that,' I say.
We make love and then shower together. I am self-conscious at first, but after a few minutes, I relax and let him wash my back. We stay under the hot water (he likes his showers as hot as I do) long past the point of wrinkled fingers. Then we are out in the world, walking down Third Avenue to Starbucks. It is a humid, gray day, and rain feels likely. But we don't need good weather. Happiness wells inside me.
We are alone in line to order, Marvin Gaye singing over the sound system. I order a tall skim latte. Dex says, 'Give me the same thing in a large with, um… just regular milk.'
I like that he abandons the Starbucks terminology, skipping the word 'grande' and ordering his coffee as a guy's guy should.
The perky girl behind the register bellows our order to her colleague, who promptly marks our cups with a black marker. Starbucks employees are consistently, freakishly chipper, even during the worst of morning rush hour when they have to deal with hordes of cranky people waiting impatiently for their caffeine fix.
'Oh wait,' the girl says, beaming. 'Are these together or separate?'
Dex answers quickly, 'We're-they're together.'
I smile at his slip. We are together.
'Will there be anything else?'
'Um. Yeah. I'll have a blueberry muffin,' Dex says and then looks at me. 'Rachel?'
'Yeah. I'll have one too,' I say, resisting the urge to order a low-fat muffin. I don't want to be anything like Darcy.
'So two blueberry muffins.' Dex pays and drops his change into the tip mug in front of the register. The girl smiles at me, as if to say, your guy is not only hot but generous too.
Dex and I both add a packet of brown sugar to our coffee, stir, and find a seat at the counter facing the street. The sidewalks are deserted.
'I like New York this way,' I say, tasting my foam. We watch a lone yellow cab drift up Third Avenue. 'Listen… no honking.'
'Yeah. It really is dead,' he says. 'I bet we could get reservations anywhere tonight. Would you like to go out?'
I look at him. 'We can't do that.'
Getting coffee is one thing. Dinner is another.
'We can do whatever we please. Haven't you figured that out yet?' He winks and sips his coffee.
'What if somebody sees us?'
'Nobody's here.' He motions out the window. 'And so what if they do? We're allowed to eat, aren't we? Hell, I could even tell Darcy we're going to grab a bite together. She knows that we're both stuck here working, right?'
'I guess so.'
'C'mon. I want to take you out. I've never taken you out on a proper date. I feel bad about that. What do you say?'
I raise my eyebrows and smirk.
'What's that look for?' Dex asks. His full lips meet the rim of his cup.
'It's just that 'proper' is not the word that comes to mind when I think about us.'
'Oh, that,' Dex says, waving his hand in the air, as though I have just stated an insignificant detail about our relationship. 'Well, that can't be helped… I mean-yes, the circumstances are… less than ideal.'
'That's an understatement. Let's call a spade a spade, Dex. We're having an affair.'
It is the most I have ever said about what we are doing. I know Hillary wouldn't give me any awards for
