Page 132 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Peter grumbled playfully, pretending to be upset.

“It’s just the worst,” he said, “knowing exactly where you belong. Being with the person you’re meant to be with. I don’t know how we’ll manage.”

Laughing, I tore at the top of my croissant.

“You think you’ll be okay?” Peter asked. “Knowing you were meant for me?”

“I was meant just for you?” I asked playfully. “No one else ever would have done? We’re soulmates?”

Peter stared at me.

I let him stew for a moment, then smiled.

“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t imagine anything else. I wouldn’t want to.”

Sighing happily, Peter mimicked me, tearing at his croissant.

“I suppose there’s only one thing left,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“What’s the next step?” he asked. “Since I guess we’re stuck with each other…what do we want to do with that? Things are kind of getting back to normal. As normal as they’ll probably ever be again. What do we do now?”

“There are so many possibilities,” I said. “Which one to choose?”

Peter shrugged. I shrugged. We took bites of our croissants. He went back to scrolling through his phone as I stared out the window, listening each time he mentioned something interesting he ran across.

What was next?

I think I knew what was next for me.

And I was certain Peter would be happy to go along with my idea.

You Can’t Dream the Same Dream Forever

The blistering sun had turned our car into a sauna on an exceptionally warm and muggy summer day. Our activities in the backseat hadn’t helped cool it down. We’d left the car on with the air conditioner running, but it could only do so much to keep us cool. Peter was still astride me, his bare chest slick with sweat against my bare chest. Naked and unashamed, and kissing in the backseat of our car that we’d parked down a rarely traveled country road, we were coming down from our orgasms. In the mid-afternoon hour, we knew we couldn’t spend as much time as we’d like, doing the thing we were doing, but we didn’t rush, either.

I took my time, kissing Peter, nibbling at his neck, running my hands up and down his back, feeling every inch of his body that I could. Peter had his arms around my neck, sighing happily as I explored his body. Our lovemaking was over, but we were still connected, refusing to separate so quickly after such a high. We were both still trying to catch our breath.

Finally, I pulled my mouth away from Peter’s flesh so I could look up at him. He bent his head to give me a soft, lingering kiss on the lips, then shifted enough to elicit a moan from me. We both laughed as I reached up and ran my fingers through his damp hair. As I looked up at him, all I could think was how much I wished that certain moments with Peter would never end. If we could be frozen in time for…well, forever…at certain points in our history, I would never feel sadness for the rest of my life.

Then again, what are the happy times without the sad times?

When it became obvious that we needed to separate and slide back into our clothes, we both did so begrudgingly. Laughing, we both slid into our pants and shirts, doing our best to not elbow each other as we redressed in the backseat. Finally, fully clothed again, we sat at opposite sides of the bench seat, smiling at each other wickedly, proud of the fornication we’d just committed in broad daylight.

“I think I’ve found a new favorite way we do that,” Peter spoke first.

“I’m definitely not mad at it, either,” I said.

The first “tip-taps” of rain sounded on the roof of the car and splattered on the windows. The warmth and thick mugginess that had hung like a wet blanket over our city all day had culminated in the only logical result. Peter and I grinned at the sound of the rain. Not because we had been particularly excited for another rainy day, but because the heat had been unbearable. In Minnesota, you only get so many hot days in summer, but when they arrive, they are relentless. Especially after all of the temperate days of early and mid-summer.

“Should we sit here and just enjoy the rain for a while?” Peter asked.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” I teased.

Our Sundays, as we’d planned since our first meeting in Montreal, were always dedicated to each other, as long as we were together. Leisurely breakfasts in our bedroom in the tiny sitting area. Not showering until the morning was nearly gone. Sex. Lots of sex. We’d recently taken up driving out to the country for fun outdoorsy intimacy. It hurt no one as long as we weren’t caught—and we never were. We didn’t necessarily need more spice in our marriage, but extra excitement in any marriage never hurt.

I leaned back against the door and kicked my feet out, trying to lay them in Peter’s lap. He laughed and pretended he would push them away before, ultimately, pulling them into his lap. Moaning with satisfaction, I laid back and enjoyed having Peter massage my feet as we listened to the rain begin to fall harder and faster, until a symphony was playing above our heads on the windows around us. Even though it was mid-afternoon, the storm clouds had blotted out the sun, casting the interior of the car in dark shadows.