Is it even worth it, all this packing?

I mean, god. We can’t spend two weeks in a place without having to move on. I let out a harsh laugh and shove another tank into the little duffel bag Gio got me at a store just inside the Michigan border. “It’s ridiculous,” he said, standing in the aisle next to a truly stupid array of duffel bags. “Carrying all your things around in shopping bags. It has to stop.”

Two weeks? Most places, we don’t last two minutes.

I add more clothes, shoving them in tight. These clothes—they’re all I have.

I was being a bitch before, and I know it. Still, it’s true. My wedding ring is the most important thing I have.

I twist it around my finger with my thumb and scowl down into the dresser drawer. It’s hard to keep my feet on the ground when I think about Gio. I feel like I’m a thousand feet above the clouds, getting buffeted around in the air by warmth and light. That kiss on my forehead? Yes. It was more than enough to set me off. I want more of it. I want more of him.

And yet, I am also frustrated as fuck.

I don’t want to leave Torch Lake.

I especially don’t want to leave now, with my shoulders aching from work today. Sitting in the car for another frenzied trip to god knows where is the last thing on earth I want to be doing.

The first thing on earth that I want to be doing is sleeping peacefully next to my husband, but it looks like that’s off the table.

Or maybe...

Surely, we have enough time for one last rendezvous in our bed. It’s the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever slept on, and every time Gio comes to bed he lets out a satisfied sigh.

If we have to run away from this glorious bed, the least we can do is say a proper goodbye.

In the bathroom I drop my favorite toiletries one by one into the side pocket of the duffel bag. I leave the full-size shampoo and conditioner and body wash after the mildest of debates with myself. They’ll only be heavy. For some reason, the thought of being weighed down by too much extra convinces me to turn out the light and go. All of it can be replaced.

All of it except Gio.

It would be even nicer if he was surprising me with a middle-of-the-night jetset to an exotic location. “Think of it that way,” I command myself. It’s not the best work I’ve done, because I’ve talked to enough locals to know that north of here is mostly nothing. It is certainly not exotic.

One last look around the bedroom. I stopped sleeping with a teddy bear when my mother died, but I find myself scanning the sheets for Mr. Fluff. He’s not here. The room is nearly as empty as a hotel room packed up and ready for the final sweep.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I even open the drawer to Gio’s side table and peer inside. I’m rewarded with....nothing. He reserved the drawer entirely for our certificate of marriage, apparently.

It’s cute, in a way.

But I wouldn’t describe Gio as cute. Ever.

Thinking of him like that, a body on display, muscles perfection, gives me a fucking hot flash. It’s so intense that I have to step outside onto our balcony. It overlooks the yard and road, where a couple is pressed hard against one another, so close they’re barely able to walk hand in hand. They’re pulling it off...a little. My mouth curves upward. I could tell Gio a pretty good story about this.

I’m not going to get sentimental.

Bigger and better things, Sia. Bigger and better things.

I hitch my duffel bag’s strap over my shoulder and go for the stairs.

Yeah. One last turn in this bed, and I’ll let Gio drive me anywhere he wants to go.

I hop off the last stair, my cheeks pink from my unbelievable imagination. “I know you’re in a rush, but don’t you think we have time for a once-over in the bed...”

My voice trails off as my brain registers the sight in front of me.

Gio’s not alone.

He’s not alone, because there are two people in the kitchen with him, one sitting at the table like he owns the property and the other leaning against the counter to the right of the stove, waiting. Waiting for what?

Oh, my god.

I want to walk back out.

I want to turn around drop my suitcase, and sprint back up the stairs. Going to the roof might do it, but they can climb as well as I can.

The urge to leave is overpowering. The urge to take the stairs two at a time and lock the door tightly behind me is overpowering. I want to run.

But it’s far too late for that now.