“And if you have a job it’s easy to get a work visa here,” Sam says, leaning into me. “I read a little bit about it on the immigration website before we left.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe you had this all planned out.”
“I wouldn’t call it planned,” she says with a crooked smile. “More like flying by the seat of my pants and hoping you’d want to come along for the ride.”
I let my hand slip down to cup her bottom through her jeans. “Anytime your ass is involved, count me in.”
Her breath rushes out as she squirms away. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find something we can afford for lunch. I saw a sign for a grocery store in one of the towns up ahead.”
The rest of the afternoon is as perfect as the start of the day. We find a grocery store and bulk trail mix that only costs a small fortune and grab a couple of Lemon and Paeroa sodas to drink. We eat on a park bench overlooking the river we’re going to kayak tomorrow and watch a group of rafters drift by, looking snug in their life jackets and thick sweaters.
“I guess no one falls in?” I ask.
“I guess not,” Sam says. “I bet that water’s freezing if you did.”
“Can’t be worse than the ocean in Porec this time of year,” I say, tipping my drink back, enjoying the way the sweet soda fizzes at the back of my throat. I stopped drinking beer a couple of years ago, when it became obvious I’d inherited Chuck’s weakness for alcohol and couldn’t stop with two or seven beers, but I miss that fizz. Most soft drinks can’t match it, but the L&P comes pretty damned closed.
Just another thing to love about our new temporary home.
By the time we reach our hotel in Taupo—a place that reminds me of an old fashioned hunting lodge with a view of Lake Taupo and more snow-capped mountains far in the distance—I’ve more than come around to the idea of living in New Zealand. I’m fucking thrilled and can’t wait to celebrate with Sam. I can barely keep my hands to myself as we check in at the front desk and get the key to our cabin, and the moment the door closes behind Sam, I drop my backpack and reach for my girl.
“Don’t you want to look around first,” she says, laughing as I sweep her up into my arms.
“I know where the bed is,” I say. “That’s all I need to know right now.”
“But what about dinner? Our reservations are in an hour. I need to shower.”
“We’ll shower after,” I say, tossing her onto the bed before reaching for my fleece and tugging it over my head. “I’ll wash your back, you can wash mine.”
“Danny, for real.” She pushes up to sit against the heavy wooden headboard and draws her knees up to her chest. “I’d rather wait until after dinner. Take our time.”
I pause with my belt halfway undone. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I know it’s been a long time, but is another couple of hours really going to make that much of a difference?”
I study her for a long moment, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
She just wraps her arms around her knees, hugs her legs to her chest, and gazes uncomfortably out the window into the darkening woods, looking more like I suggested we get his and hers genital piercings than have sex for the first time in almost half a year.
A second ago, I was so hard my boxer briefs felt like they were cutting off my circulation, but as I stand at the end of the bed, half-dressed, with my girlfriend so disinterested she doesn’t even sneak a peek at my chest, let alone invite me to join her on the bed, my erection dies a miserable death and our perfect day takes a turn as I realize what must have happened.
The only time Sam has ever acted this way before was three years ago, when I came back to the island after her graduation from high school to find out she’d cheated with her best friend’s brother at the graduation party. They were both drinking beers in the hot tub when he leaned over and kissed her. She said she only kissed him back for a few minutes and regretted it immediately, but it had obviously fucked with her head. She was twitchy and weird for an entire week before I finally called her on it and she confessed to what happened one day while we were surfing.
Not trusting myself not to completely lose my shit, I paddled in without saying a word to Sam, hitchhiked over to Sherry’s, and drank beer with Bjorn until four in the morning before I threw up and passed out. My hangover lasted for two days—two miserable days that convinced me it was time to get on the wagon with the rest of the Cooney men who were halfway functional and stay there. During those days I spent praying to the porcelain god and begging the world to stop spinning, Sam had called at least fifty times to apologize, but I’d refused to take her calls and let her messages pile up until my mailbox was full.