The boat has a captain and a steward, who welcome us pleasantly and show us around. In the stateroom, there’s a box on the bed containing a bikini that’s exactly my size.
“You didn’t have to rent a whole boat just because you want to see me in my swimwear,’ I tease.
“I’ve seen you in a lot less,” he reminds me, eyeing my curves in the small white bikini. He’s changed, faster than me, into a pair of shorts appropriate for a day of relaxing the deck of a luxury boat. His bare chest is a study in perfection, hard slabs of muscle that continue all the way over his flat stomach to end below his navel, in a hard ‘v’ that disappears into his shorts.
“Yes you have,” I agree.
His eyes fix on mine, then he sighs. “Come on. They’re laying out our lunch. If we don’t leave this cabin now, I probably won’t let you out all day.”
On the deck, we have lunch as the boat sails across the bay, and Landon points out the sights from the water. I’m more impressed by Alcatraz Island than anything else, especially when Landon starts to tell me about a famous escape from the former high-security prison. His face is animated as he tells me about a movie about the escape that was made in the seventies.
“In the seventies?” I tease. “You weren’t even born.”
He shrugs. “I have a thing for old movies. The Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane,” He looks at me and smiles. “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
“Ugh,” I do an exaggerated shudder. “I have a thing for Disney movies, Michael Bay type action-fests, and anything with Ralph Fiennes.”
He gives me a look, “Well, at least there’s hope that you’ll find me attractive when I’m that age.”
“I’ll always find you attractive,” I say softly, looking at him. It’s almost as if we’re both pretending that this thing we have isn’t going to end in only two days.
I disguise the sad direction of my thought with a cheerful smile and a funny comment. He responds in kind, and we spend the rest of the afternoon just talking. Towards evening, the boat docks close to a rocky island where a wooden berth connects the dock to a flight of stairs that lead up to a small but exquisite house with wide sunny patios, a sparkling blue swimming pool, and inside, the most amazing mixture of both homely and classy décor.
“Wow!” is all I can say. “How do you even find places like this?”
“You build them.” He ignores my look of surprise. “Sometimes, I need to get away, you know, watch old movies and forget about my phone.”
“That totally explains it,” I laugh, going from room to room to look at the mesmerizing views.
He follows me, seeming to take pleasure in my almost childish enjoyment of the house. In the kitchen, he checks the fridge, his eyes skipping through all the contents.
“I’m famished,” I tell him, realizing even as I say it, just how hungry I am.
“Hmm,” he closes the fridge. “I asked the retainer to get some food items. Why don’t you go change, explore, whatever. I’ll make dinner.”
My mouth hangs open. “You cook?”
“I practically grew up in a hotel,” he says, “sometimes I hung out in the kitchen with the chefs.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, pulling out one of the stools at the kitchen island. “I have to watch this.”
I watch him cook, helping only a little, since my culinary skills are severely limited. After we’ve polished off the tender steak with a delicious sauce and the crisp tomato salad, I relax with my head on his lap while we watch one of his old movies in a den with a very large wide-screen TV.
The movie, a tragic story about an aging actress and a struggling writer, is surprisingly good, even though it’s in black and white. When it’s over, we go to the master bedroom, another beautiful room with a tremendous view, and before we go to sleep, we make love with an intensity that brings tears to my eyes. He falls asleep before I do, his breaths slowing
as his chest rises and falls. I listen to him breathe, my head on his chest as exhaustion from his lovemaking competes with my desire to enjoy the sound of his heartbeat for a little while longer. When I finally fall asleep, with my arm around his waist, I know without a doubt that I never want to let him go.
I WAKE up with the knowledge that something is wrong. Rising from the bed, I start to look around the darkened room before realizing that it’s Landon who woke me up.
He’s still asleep, but his muscles are tense and straining, his hands into curled into fists by his side. His eyes are tightly closed, and he’s moaning words in his sleep, the sounds barely comprehensible.
“No,” he says, his head moving from side to side. “No please, let me go,” then a long strained “mom.”
I look up at his face, and it’s drawn into a tight mixture of desperation and despair. I have no idea what to do. My only experience of nightmares is the bogeyman my little brother Dylan struggled with for about two months when he was six.
Landon makes another tortured sound, and unsure of what to do, I put my arms around him, stroking his chest as I pray for his nightmare to end. It finally does, his body relaxing as sleep takes over. I stay awake long after, still stroking him lightly, until finally, I fall asleep again.
“WHEN are you coming back?” Laurie mock-wails on the phone. “I just managed to escape from the moms. They were driving me crazy asking-but-not-asking when me and Brett are planning to get married.”