Aloha means both “hello” and “goodbye” in Hawaii. I imagine it’s sort of like being a mother: no matter how many times you say goodbye to your kids when on your way to your at-freaking-last destination honeymoon, you’ll have to go back for one more hug. And to find your son’s teddy bear one more time (behind the couch). And to give your brother-in-law the list of phone numbers one more time (because he was crawling under the couch to get said teddy bear, and he lost the list).

And then when you actually land on Maui, and get swept away to your fantastic, five star resort experience, you’re not in the suite five minutes before you need an emergency Skype session because your darling brother-in-law does not know how to make your son’s favorite jammy toast and is quietly imploding.

“So it’s blueberry jam on one slice, and strawberry on the other.” Fraser is sitting at the kitchen table with his hands folded in front of him, stoic as ever. Meanwhile, my four-year-old angel Sebastian is standing on his new uncle’s lap, merrily smooshing his face. Sometimes I think Fraser regrets marrying into the Brightman clan, at least when Emma’s not around.

“And then smash the two pieces together, that’s right.” I’m kneeling by the bed, trying not to get a little teary at the sight of Sebastian. At least he’s too busy messing up Fraser to miss me. I blow a kiss at the screen. “Go find Emma and the girls and give them my love.”

“Knowing Emma, they’ll be bungee jumping off the roof by now.” But Fraser says that with a smile; finally, the uptight façade melts a little. Only Emma can have that effect on him. Ah, the first days of marriage. I remember those days, the easy laughs, the little erotic meetings in the kitchen or the closet or in a bush outside your parents’ house where you have to be really freaking quiet and not upset the gardenias.

Well, I mean I sort of remember those days. Because four months after Justin and I got married, Sawyer arrived, and things were a little hectic from there out.

“Go enjoy the sunshine and the tropical, er, fish.” Fraser lifts Sebastian and logs off the call, leaving me alone in our fantastic honeymoon suite. The place is quiet, with Justin out arranging to get the rest of our luggage brought up. That’s normally part of my job. The organization, the color-coding luggage tags, the dictating what goes where and when…

Damn, I’m getting a little turned on just thinking about it. I’ve always been that way. Type A, black belt, supermom, able to speed through the Westfield mall wearing heeled sandals at rush hour with three bags, a stroller, and a fruit smoothie that really ought to have wheatgrass in it but life is short and strawberries are delicious.

Which is why Justin’s handling the luggage, and I’m here taking it easy and enjoying the suite. Gotta learn to relax. Gotta learn to breathe again. Gotta remember what it’s like not to have three children running all over the house, screaming for attention. Gotta appreciate walking across a floor that isn’t a minefield of Legos.

How am I supposed to relax with all this…this relaxation?

I pad around the suite, inspecting the place. The floors are polished wood, the walls painted cream with tropical flowers bursting in colorful fuchsia and orange and pink clusters at every corner. The TV is a flat screen that’s about as long as our car, the bathroom is definitely equipped with a bath, so we’re good there. I realize I’m halfway into organizing the complimentary pineapple shaped soaps before I stop.

Okay, so relaxing doesn’t come as naturally to me as to some other people. Still, the soaps are arranged in little pyramids now, so that’s something to be proud of.

Charlotte, if you don’t learn how to take a deep breath now and again you’re going to turn into Delia. Is that what you want?

I do a full body shudder at that thought. My mother-in-law is the reactionary platinum blonde from the Dark Ages, equipped with a blood red manicure and a head full of the worst hot takes regarding women’s lib. That Emma managed to get away from her mother’s insane judgment and find love is a testament to her never-say-die attitude.

Of course, Emma and Fraser’s honeymoon kind of spurred the one I’m currently on, the one with fancy soaps and tropical fish. After they got married two months ago, Fraser took her on a full month-long tour of France and Italy. We kept getting pictures of the two of them in a street café, where Emma was shoving a baguette in her mouth (to Fraser’s look of horror); on the beach in Nice, where Emma was making a peace sign behind Fraser’s head (to his bewilderment); and to the statue of the David in Florence, where Emma was pretending to tickle the statue’s, er, private business (while Fraser was clearly in the middle of saying something like ‘why can’t I take you anywhere?’) Those pictures made Justin and me laugh, and laugh hard.

But it was the other pictures of them, the ones where they were wrapped up in each other’s arms and beaming like they’d found everything right in the world, that made Justin and me very quiet. Because we both knew—or at least, I knew—that we hadn’t looked like that in a while. Between Sawyer’s ballet classes, Sage’s decision to walk around everywhere wearing a space helmet (a phase which hasn’t ended yet), and Sebastian’s specific jam fixation, my husband and I are more like loving roommates than actual husband and wife. Justin’s been working his tail off these past two years to drum up more business for his firm, and I’m proud of him. But he heads out to the office at seven every morning and usually isn’t home until seven at night. We miss family dinner three nights a week, minimum. When he slips into bed beside me, there’s usually a loving but painfully chaste kiss before we both crash into an exhausted oblivion.

Like I said. Not really husband and wife.

You know, in the fun, sexy, sexy fun sense.

So we needed a honeymoon. Hence the hotel. Hence he’s dealing with the luggage.

And just like that, I hear the door open and find him helping out the bellboy, who’s flustered looking in a white suit.

“It’s okay, sir. I can handle them,” the kid says, but Justin’s still doing half his job for him. What a great husband I have.

What a great, still-sexy, still ‘I can’t believe he married me, damn but he’s gorgeous’ husband.

What a great, still-sexy husband I have who is rocking a white polo shirt with relaxed-yet-not-slouchy cargo shorts and who turns around, whips his sunglasses off, and gives me a breathtaking, gleaming smile. I swear, if this was a John Woo movie, slow motion doves would fly through the background to accentuate Justin’s handsomeness before John Travolta jumped out of nowhere and threatened me with a gun.

I swear to God, I’m not letting Emma pick family movie night ever again.

“Thank you.” Justin tips the kid, who leaves us all alone. Here, in our elaborate honeymoon suite with the doors open to a sunshine-filled balcony, and the crash of waves in the background. The air smells like papayas, and our luxurious, king-sized bed is just waiting for a welcoming embrace.

Justin runs a hand through his shining blond hair and walks over to me. How is it that after all these years of being married, of being up with one of the kids at three in the morning, of car trips and fights over which mayonnaise to get, I’m still so awestruck by this man? You never know when your good luck is going to show. If Justin and I hadn’t been on the same meal plan in college, we probably wouldn’t be here right now.

Thank you, Sloppy Joe night. You gave me a life.

“Well. The bathroom’s clean,” I say at last, in what I hope is a sultry voice. Justin chuckles, and takes me into his arms.

“I can always count on you for the important details,” he murmurs, and then kisses me. The kiss is so spine tingling I don’t even beat myself up too hard about my killer opening line. You really know the way to a guy’s libido, Charlotte. “I think there’s a gorgeous view on the balcony.” Justin pulls away, sliding an arm around my waist. “Want to see?”

Since the balcony opens directly onto the bedroom, yes. I would like to see that. All the better to soak up some sun and then take a flying leap into bed. We stroll out and onto said balcony, still wrapped around each other. Good. Then I see that the thoughtful staff members have left us flutes of champagne and a bowl of oranges on the patio table. The drinks sparkle in the Hawaiian sunlight.

Everyone is getting a tip. Including me, hopefully. Well, more than the tip. A lot more.

I think this is what mental blather feels like.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Justin clinks glasses with me, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You okay, Char?”

“Oh, you know me. Ready and willing.” Whatever that means. My face heats up as I take a nice, stiff drink. Heh. Stiff. Good, the magical alcohol is working.

Justin and I have always been the quieter, just-do-it members of the family. It’s why we work so well together. At least, I think we work together. But then again, we’ve been standing here for minutes and I’ve sucked down all of this champagne and I still haven’t spoken a word, have I? Why am I so nervous to be around my husband? How much time apart have we had, that I actually feel awkward around him?

“You drank that fast!” Justin plucks the flute from my hand, sets it back on the table. Maybe I should do us both a favor and accidentally tip myself over the balcony railing. I’ll probably land in the safety of a hammock or a field of coconuts, whichever comes first.

“I wonder if they have hammocks down by the beach,” I find myself saying aloud. Justin looks surprised, then laughs. Laughter breaks over his face like a ray of pure, heavenly sunlight…or a glass of champagne, whichever is more delicious.

“I want to know what on earth you’re thinking,” he says as he takes me into his arms. Mmm, that’s good. Then he kisses me, one quick brush of lips before deepening the kiss. He tilts my head back, cradling my neck. Then, slowly, his other hand leaves my waist and travels upward, to trace up the swell of my breast.

Hello. Aloha. Whatever, this feels good.

“Currently,” I murmur against his mouth, “I’m thinking that the bed looks lonely.”

“Needs company?” Justin breathes against my neck, nips at my shoulder. I sigh, melting against his touch. Okay, this is what we needed. Just us, alone, with romance and champagne and…

Did you get the kind of jam that Sebastian likes? The Smuckers? Fraser and Emma aren’t going to know to go out to the store for it, and he can’t tell them. He’s only four.

Stop sabotaging me, brain! I’m trying to sleep with my husband!

“Who’s Brian?” Justin pulls away, surprised. Oh Jesus, I said all of that out loud. Maybe I should just push him off the balcony. I can’t have anyone bear witness to my shame.

“I was talking to my brain. Out loud. Like a sane person,” I admit. The ocean breeze wafts past us, and all the while Justin stares at me. Then, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he laughs again, pulling me deeper into his arms. Yes! This is the way to my husband’s heart; making a wonderful buffoon of myself. Look, if this attracts me to him, I’m not saying no to rubber clown shoes or a bulbous red nose. A miniature car, however, is probably not in the cards.

“What am I going to do with you?” Justin kisses me again, deeper this time. My nipples harden under his attention, and I can feel myself, well, getting ready for him.

“Well…what are you going to do to me?” I whisper, tugging at his shirt. Bingo. In half a second, he’s lifted me up, and soon after that I’m lying on the hotel bed, the gorgeous man I married on top of me. I feel his weight pressing me down, and I can’t wait to do this naked. He kisses down my neck, sliding one of my sleeves off my shoulder. I give in to his touch, his warmth, and lie back with my eyes closed. Forget Hawaii. This is paradise, right here.

And then, the phone rings. The phone rings, and Justin props himself up on his elbows and pulls said phone out of his pocket. His eyes widen when he sees the caller ID. Oh shit.

“Is it Emma? The kids?” I sit up, all the romantic tension fleeing my body at once. Justin only shakes his head, and pushes up. Away from me. Away from the very, very nice beginning of our honeymoon.

“I need to take this. Five minutes.” He’s already distracted as he answers and pads his way out of the room. “Hey, Jeff. So?” Then, like that, he’s out in the hallway. Apparently the conversation is so top secret I can’t be in on it.

While he can’t be in on…me, I guess.

Shit. I groan and roll over to lie face down on the bed. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. I may still be agog at my handsome, brilliant husband, but it’s clear that it’s more of a one-way attraction at this point. Justin’s a faithful, loving guy, but the spark is clearly gone. On his end, at least. He’s more in love with his work at this point than with me. And honestly? I can’t really blame him.

Much as I love our kids, much as I love being their mom, I haven’t had anything special to interest Justin in a long time. Honestly, between having to deal with Lego-ridden floors and bath and bedtime all on my own for a long time now, I’m more of a task master at home than anything else. I guess this is like taking your drill sergeant on your honeymoon: you know the reservations will be booked on time, but sex is not something you’re all that keen to get into. No romantic locale can possibly change that.

Well. Guess I’d better go onto the balcony and sort the oranges properly.