The Slow Boat – Part 2: Terraces

The cabin was the size of a generous cupboard, with a narrow double bed, a porthole and a tiny desk. The door shut with a click. The boat rocked slightly as it entered a lock.

"This is ridiculous," said Nadia, laughing.

"Is it?"

"We're forty-something, we have a mortgage and a dog-sitter."

"We have a porthole," said Paul, and kissed her.

It was not a rushed kiss. It was the kiss of twenty-two years, familiar, unhurried, perfectly confident. But there was a spark in it, too, something curious and warm, and Nadia felt it in her chest. She slid her hands up his shirt and he lifted her glasses off her nose and set them carefully on the tiny desk.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she whispered. "Remember me?"

"Intimately."

They both laughed. The bed was narrow, so they had to be close. The porthole threw trembling reflections across the ceiling. Hands that knew each other well went exploring anyway, and found fresh things to discover. They were gentle and teasing, and not at all in a hurry. The boat tilted in the lock, the gates groaned, the water roared and settled, and neither of them noticed.

After a long time, they lay tangled in the thin sheets, watching the ripple of light on the ceiling.

"Twenty-two years," said Paul.

"And you're still looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a man who has found something he lost."

"I did find something I lost." He kissed her forehead. "It was a Tuesday, in the late nineties. You were holding a clipboard."

"I was holding a pen."

"I stand corrected."

The next morning they sat on the top deck in the sun, eating pastries and watching the vineyards slide past. Paul got out the map from his pocket, looked at it, and handed it to Nadia.

"Throw it in the river," he said.

She laughed. She folded it into a paper boat instead and set it afloat in her coffee saucer. Neither of them was in a hurry to arrive.

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