The Quiet House – Part 2: Door Open

They climbed the stairs like teenagers, hand in hand, giggling, and Anita nearly tripped on the landing rug. The bedroom was bright with late sun. The bed was the same bed they had bought in the second year of marriage, with the same slightly squeaky frame, and she had a sudden, ridiculous wave of fondness for it.

"Leave the door open," she said.

"Anita, the whole house is empty."

"I know. That's the point."

He grinned, and kissed her. It was a slow kiss at first, familiar and sweet, the kiss of a long marriage. But there was something new in it, something unhurried and curious, as if they had both been handed a gift they didn't know how to unwrap. Her hands slid under his shirt. His found the zip on her dress, and he paused. "All right?"

"Very all right."

"Good. I'd like to take my time."

"Take as long as you like. Nobody is going to knock."

The afternoon sun moved across the quilt. They laughed at creaks, at a pillow that fell on the floor, at the squeak of the bed they had once muffled with a towel. They were gentle with each other, and a little shy, and Robert said her name, over and over, as if rediscovering how it sounded. For a long time nothing existed but warmth, breath and the unhurried rhythm of two people who knew each other better than anyone alive and had just been given the time to prove it.

Afterwards they lay in the sun with the door wide open and the house silent around them.

"It's going to be all right," said Anita.

"It's going to be better than all right," said Robert. "I'm making dinner. At ten o'clock. In my dressing gown."

"I'll supervise."

"You'll distract me."

"That," she said, smiling at the ceiling, "is the general idea."

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