So after yesterday, I feel like we should christen my new house like we christened her café. I casually proposed the idea to Delaney when she came over for lunch. I was giving her a tour of the place, and when we got to my bedroom, I raised my eyebrows. She got red, wrinkled up her nose at me, wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed by me in the doorway to get out—laughing, but the message was quite clear.

I backed off. Didn’t want to—at all—but needed to. For her.

We ate on the deck—chicken and skewered vegetables on the grill—and then walked Tucker down along the water. She let me take her hand, looking up at me with this expression of innocence and longing with an apology in her eyes. I squeezed her fingers in mine, not knowing exactly what to say or even if she wanted me to say anything, but hoping she could feel that I’m all about doing whatever she needs. For as long as she needs me to.

I’m thinking about asking her if she wants to stay with me tonight—no pressure, but wanting to ask—when she tells me she’s going to Bangor to see her dad for his birthday and that she’ll probably be back kind of late. She looks anxious telling me, so I’m quite sure this is her way of avoiding a sleepover. I know the roots of her stress run deep, no matter how many times I try to reassure her that she’s most definitely a match for me, and that I’ll handle whatever my mother tries to throw our way. I keep hoping that each connection Delaney and I make will strengthen our bond and override her reservations. Jesus, the sex just keeps getting more amazing, more intense. I know she feels it as well, and I also know I’ve never been with anyone where making love has transcended the physical—where it becomes not only emotional, but almost spiritual.

Christ. Listen to me. Damon Cavanaugh, zen master. No clue where this awakening is coming from, because I never used to view sex that way. But it’s different with Delaney.

Before she leaves, I hug her, liking how her body molds itself to mine. I hear her sigh as I draw her in—a sound that’s both wistful and content. I put my lips on her hair, and she steps away after a few seconds, thanking me for lunch. Tucker and I stand on the deck watching her go down the long driveway. There’s a grabbing sensation in my gut, because each time I see her go, I wonder if it’s going to be the final time.

Tucker and I spend a couple hours helping out at the Humane Society. Poor guy puts the brakes on when I open the door and all the smells hit him. I feel badly that he thinks he’s going back to stay. I rub his ears and tell him it’s just a visit, and he seems to believe me. The people there make a huge fuss over him, and he totally basks in it, lounging on the big dog bed near the receptionist while I walk a couple dogs and clean some cat boxes before we head back home.

I’m back home, taking a beer out of my fridge when my phone rings. Hopeful that it’s her, I feel a twinge of disappointment when I see Tommy’s name on the screen.

“So you are still alive,” he says, when I answer. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Sorry, bud. Busy with work.”

“Yeah, you and I both know it’s more than that, but it’s all good.”

“What’s up?”

“Calling to see if you wanted to grab a few brews tonight. Steve’s around, so he might join us. Where it’s a holiday tomorrow, I figured you’d be up for it.”

A night with the guys would probably help snap me out of this funk I feel I’m sliding into.

“Sounds good,” I tell him. “Where are you thinking?”

“Louie’s. That is, if it’s not too beneath your rich ass.”

“Fuck you. I’m still the same guy.”

“Sure, sure. The same guy, except sleeping in silk sheets and shitting on solid gold toilets.” He chuckles. “Meet you there around 8:00.”

Prick. I’m grinning as I end the call. It’ll be good to see him.

Louie’s isn’t as busy as I thought, but people are probably camping this weekend. I see Tom and Steve lifting their beer mugs at me from a trestle table along the windows and walk over.

“Hey, Cav. Glad you could make it.” Steve slides over for me to sit down.

“Likewise. How’s married life?”

“Awesome.”

Tommy snorts and rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. “Christ, here we go.”

“Seriously, it is. I highly recommend it.”

Shaking his head, Tommy grabs a handful of popcorn and chews noisily. “One pussy for the rest of your life? I don’t think so.”

“If you’re in love with the woman, every time feels new. I hope it happens someday for you, dude.”

Tommy lifts up the popcorn basket, the menu holder, his placemat, his napkin, looking under each.

Steve looks confused. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Seeing if I can find your balls, because you obviously don’t fucking have them anymore.”

“Kiss my big hairy hiney, Tom.”

We’re all laughing. I order a beer when the waitress stops by, and then Tom turns his attention to me.

“So, Cavanaugh...how are your nuts? Still got ’em?”

“Still intact, yes.”

“You still seeing Blondie?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa—that’s been a while, Cav. This is big for you.”

“Anything over a week is big for me, Tom.”

“Ha! Truth. But seriously, good for you. She’s a lucky girl.”

We talk about business: what’s been selling at Tommy’s car dealership, Steve taking the reins at his accounting firm, the command and control system we’re installing in our newest yachts, and pleasure: my place in Hancock (with an open invitation to visit), Steve and Christie’s upcoming trip to Europe, and where Tommy plans to play golf this summer.

Just as the waitress comes over to see if we’d like another round, my phone vibrates from my shirt pocket. Delaney is texting me.

So I’m back at my place, and God damn it to hell, I miss you.

I feel the smile take hold as I text back.

Finishing up with the guys, and I’ll be right there.

I tell Tom and Steve I’ll pass on another round and take out my wallet to pay the tab. Tommy raises his eyebrow and laughs, shaking his head. “Not too difficult to guess where you’re going.”

“I’ve got to, buddy,” I grin. “She has my balls.”

And all the rest of me.