The Houseboat – Part 2: Skylight

The bed under the skylight was wide enough for two, and not much more. The rain drummed softly on the glass above them. A candle flickered on the shelf. The boat rocked, almost imperceptibly, as a barge passed along the canal.

"Well," said Rachel, perched on the edge. "Hello."

"Hello, Mrs Alvarez."

"I think we've met."

"Fifteen years ago. At a party. You criticised my shirt."

"It was a terrible shirt."

"It was my best shirt." He sat beside her, laughing, and kissed her. It was a slow, comfortable kiss, the kiss of two people who had weathered a great deal together, but under it was something warm and quick, and she felt it in her stomach and in the back of her knees. Her hands went to his collar. His went to her waist.

"Slow," she whispered.

"Slow."

They took their time. They laughed at the low ceiling and the creaking bunk, at cold toes and tangled sleeves, at his head meeting a beam for the third time. Nobody knocked. Nobody called from the next room. They explored each other with the care of people who knew precisely what they were doing and were delighted to find they could still be surprised. Rain hushed the glass overhead, and the canal lapped gently against the hull.

Afterwards, they lay in the lamplight looking up at the wet skylight.

"We should do this every year," said Rachel.

"Every six months."

"Every season."

"Every time the dog is at my mother's."

She laughed, and rolled onto his chest. "I love you. I've missed you."

"I've been right here."

"I know. But I've missed looking at you."

On Sunday morning they ate pancakes on the little deck in the sun, canal bikes jingling past, ducks bobbing at the quay. Marco poured coffee, and Rachel touched his hand.

"Same boat next year?" she asked.

"Same boat. Same bed. Possibly a different beam to hit."

"I'll bring a helmet," said Rachel.

More married couple romance: The Cruise · Couples Retreat · The Second Honeymoon