The Treehouse – Part 2: Rain on Leaves

"I'm never too tired for that," said Carlos, and kissed her.

It began as a slow kiss, a married kiss, warm and well-practised. But then the rain came, a wall of water crashing over the canopy, drumming on the thatch so loudly that Imani laughed and Carlos laughed and neither could hear the other. They gave up on talking and moved inside the net, where the bed was wide and the sheets were cool.

The treehouse swayed gently with each gust. Lamplight flickered through the mosquito net, painting soft gold on the ceiling. Imani's hands slid up under Carlos's shirt; his found the buttons of her sundress. They undressed slowly, grinning, kissing between each button. Seventeen years of knowing each other had taught them everything, and the rain gave them the privacy to use it. They moved together in the green dark, unhurried, surprised, tender, with the whole rainforest roaring around them like applause.

"Was that too loud?" Imani whispered, laughing, much later.

"The howler monkeys are louder."

"I hope they're not judging."

"They've been shouting all night. They're jealous."

They lay listening to the rain ease. The forest filled with the sounds of drips, frogs and distant thunder. Carlos traced slow circles on her shoulder.

"Next year," he said, "we're doing a treehouse in another country."

"Why not this one?"

"Because I'd like to find out how many treehouses there are in the world."

She laughed and kissed his chin. "Seventeen years, and you're still planning a research project."

At dawn the howler monkey woke them with a roar so close and so loud that they both sat bolt upright, then fell back in helpless giggles. The mist lifted off the canopy in long gold ribbons. A toucan landed on the deck rail and eyed them with great interest.

"Good morning," said Imani, to the toucan.

"Happy anniversary," said Carlos, to her. "I'll make the coffee."

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