SIX DAYS. ONE hundred sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand and eight minutes. More seconds than I knew.
It felt like forever.
Diane left the next Monday for New York.
The time difference sucked. She tried calling during the day when I was in the woods with no cell service. I’d call her at night and she’d be out with Lauren, or Quinn and Ryan, or other friends, shouting over the noise of a restaurant or bar because she couldn’t hear me.
We finally connected on Saturday, five days after she left and one before she’d be back.
Home.
One very long day before she returned home to me.
“Damn it’s early,” I mumbled into the phone, trying to find the alarm clock. “Why are you calling me at five on a Saturday?”
“Sorry. I missed your voice. Texting isn’t the same.”
“Are you calling for phone sex?” I rolled over onto my back and my morning wood tented against my boxers.
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You should have. Thought about it.” I yawned.
“I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“I’m awake. And there’s a saying about wasting wood.”
“Wasting wood? Is that a timber saying?”
“No, wrong kind of wood.” I stroked myself.
“Oh,” she said and fell silent.
“Are you blushing?”
I pictured her cheeks heating and reddening.
“Maybe.”
“Have you ever had phone sex before?” I asked.
“No. Have you?”
“I have.”
“I see. Well, unless you want Lauren to join in cause she’s sitting here next to me in the car, we might need a raincheck.”
I groaned and rolled to my stomach before immediately rolling back over. Her muffled voice carried out of the speaker.
“John? Hello? Damn island cell service.”
“You’re still there. Why are you laughing?”
I smiled. “I’m laughing because you sound like an island girl cursing at the bad cell reception.”
“I do?” she asked, her smile coming through her voice.
“Yep.”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve changed my flight. I finished up early and I’ll be home tonight. That’s the reason I called.”
I sat up in bed. “You are?”
“I am.”
“You said home, you know.”
“I know. It is home. It’s been great to see Lauren and everyone, but like you said, I’m an island girl now. I miss the fresh air and the green.” She lowered her voice. “I miss the smell of wet pine, earth and sea air.”
“You do?”
“I do. I miss you.” Her voice was low and sultry, barely above a whisper.
I groaned. “Fuck. You’re killing me. I miss you, too. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I would never tire of hearing her say those words. Before we got off the phone I scribbled down the information for her flight with a promise to meet her at the airport tonight.
My girl was coming home.
Babe hung his head out the window the whole way down to Seattle. We arrived at SeaTac and spotted Diane at the curb, surrounded by more bags than she left with.
When she saw the truck and Babe’s head sticking out, tongue lolling and tail wagging, a huge grin spread across her face. I stopped and opened the door, not bothering to turn off the engine. In five long strides, she was in my arms. Citrus, dark waves, and soft curves. I gripped her waist tighter and crashed my mouth into hers. We lost ourselves in the kiss, forgetting time and place while we said hello.
A loud cough behind me startled me out of the haze of lust enveloping us. I turned us both around in the direction of the sound, unwilling to part from her body. My eyes met the stare of a cranky looking officer.
“No parking. Loading and unloading only. Sir, your vehicle is unattended.”
I pointed at Babe still sitting in the passenger seat with his tongue hanging out. “No, it’s not. The dog’s still in it.”
Diane giggled and hid her face in my chest.
“I’ll give you two minutes to load up and be on your way,” the officer said without a hint of humor.
I tipped an invisible hat in his direction and grabbed two of Diane’s suitcases. She picked up the small duffel she had left with and another bag, and threw them in the back of the cab. Babe licked her face while she attempted to reclaim the passenger seat.
“What’s in the suitcases?” I organized the bags behind my seat.
“Summer clothes, pictures, treasures.”
“Got any bikinis in there?” I winked at her.
“Will the weather be warm enough for a bikini?”
“Come July and August it will be. At least I can hope.”
Before we buckled ourselves with the seat belts, I kissed her again, losing track of time. Plastic tapping on glass and the gruff voice of the cop saying, “Move it along,” finally forced us to move.
Diane’s laughter filled the truck’s cab, causing Babe to bark and bounce around with excitement.
She came back to me. I had my girl, my dog, and life was good. Better than good. Perfect.
Until we hit traffic downtown. Accident over the UW bridge backed everything up, including the express lanes. We crawled along and I grumbled about the city.
Diane pointed at the Space Needle with a tourist’s glee. I told her the story of my parents taking me there when I was a kid, even having dinner in the spinning restaurant at the top. Somehow she convinced me to take her there this summer. It didn’t take much convincing. Five torturous days apart meant I’d agree to anything to make her smile and hear her laughter.
Despite being stuck in traffic forever, we caught the ferry at Mulkiteo without having to wait. Perfect timing meant we drove down the hill from the toll both and straight on the boat. I’d had enough waiting already, so when Diane asked if I wanted to head upstairs, I answered her by pulling her across the bench seat and into my arms. Making out on the ferry made me think of high school. As horny as I felt, I could have been back in school. I wondered what she was like as a teenager. I pictured a teenage Diane in white tennis shoes and a too short to be decent skirt. That direction of thinking needed to stop because of our current location.
“Why are you groaning?”
I admitted where my mind had drifted.
“Let me get this straight, you’re turned on because you’re fantasizing about the teenage me? Kind of perverted, don’t you think?”
“No, I’m turned on because the woman I love is home. Finally.”
She smiled and kissed me again, dragging her hand through my beard. “I try to picture you in high school, but the beard throws me off.”
“Is that girl code for shave it all off?”
“No. I like it.” She scrunched up her face and squinted at me. “Although, I’m curious what you’d look like bare.”
“Speaking of bare …” I moved my hand between her legs.
“Thought you didn’t care?”
“I lied. I’ve fantasized about dragging my beard over you to watch you squirm.”
“Funny, I’ve had the same fantasy.”
“If this damn ferry ever docks, how ‘bout we make it come true?”
“Damn ferry.” She kissed me. “Damn island.” She kissed me again.
Her Jeep sat in the driveway where Steve had dropped it off this morning. Good as new.
“How?” she asked pointing at the front end.
“How what?”
“How is my Jeep fixed?
“Steve said you were lucky you crashed into the ditch instead of hit the deer.”
“But with the airbag and everything, I figured the whole front end got crushed.”
“Nah, only dented. See why I suggested you get the big SUV?”
“I can’t believe it.” After getting out of the truck, she walked over to her car and stroked her hand along the side.
“Are you petting your car?”
“I am. And saying thank you to it for taking care of me.”
“Did you ever name it?”
“I did.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“You gave your car an embarrassing name? This I have to hear.” I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled. “Go on.”
“I call it the lumberjack.”
I laughed and raised my eyebrow.
“It’s big and strong and handsome.”
“It’s missing the beard.”
“And flannel shirt.”
“I don’t always wear flannel shirts. Sometimes I wear T-shirts,” I huffed.
She moved to my side and tugged on the sleeve of my plaid shirt. “Sometimes you do.”
“You named your car after me?”
“I did. I told you it was embarrassing.”
“Nah, you love me. It’s a compliment. I think.”
“I do love you, my big lumberjack.”
I rolled my eyes, but if she wanted me to be a lumberjack, I’d show her. She squealed when I picked her up, slung her over my shoulder, and marched toward my house.
Two weeks later Diane moved out of Maggie’s house and into Dave’s. The official lease paperwork stated as much. In reality, she spent most nights in my bed and most mornings in the shower with me.
Funny how easily she merged into my life.
I surveyed my bedroom and spied half a dozen things belonging to her. A half-full glass of water sat next to a romance novel on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Last night’s jeans hung off the back of the chair and a pair of earrings joined her phone on the dresser.
None of her girly stuff had invaded my bathroom yet, but it was only a matter of time. Each object threaded her hook deeper into my flesh and I willingly let myself be pulled up to the light by her.
She stirred beside me and I stroked her hair where it flowed over her pillow. With a turn of her head she faced me and opened her eyes.
“Morning,” I said.
She mumbled something into the pillow, but I couldn’t hear it.
“What?”
Lifting her head she repeated herself, “I said, morning already?”
“Tired?” I smiled at her.
“You know I’m tired. Someone kept me up late doing unmentionable things.”
“Unmentionable? You didn’t mind last night when you begged me to—”
Her hand clamped over my mouth. I nipped at her palm with my teeth, not enough pressure to break the skin, but deep enough she pulled her hand away. I took advantage of her distraction to pounce, holding her hands above her head.
“Ouch!”
“Let me kiss it better.” I lifted her hand and placed my lips on the mark. Rather than kiss it, I sucked gently, then trailed my mouth to her wrist. She loved it when I dragged my beard against the sensitive skin there.
“Mmmm.”
“What about unmentionable things you loved last night, but don’t want me to talk about in the bright light of day?”
“Nothing.”
I nibbled along the flesh inside her elbow, causing her hips to squirm beneath me. “Some of those things you’ve done to me in the daylight before. Last week during our hike, you—”
Her lips slammed into mine and she silenced me with her tongue. I loved teasing her. And tasting her.
“You know I get all embarrassed when you do the replay.”
“Embarrassed? Or hot and bothered?”
“Less talking, more action.” Her hand wiggled out of my grasp and headed south between our bodies.
I lifted my hips to accommodate her. “I think I have my answer.”
She may have acted reluctant to hear or speak dirty talk, but I suspected she protested too much. If her grip on my wood proved anything, she loved it.
I looked forward to the weekend mornings when there was nowhere we had to be and nothing we had to do. Other than each other.
Later in the afternoon we drove up to Freeland to the recycling center.
“Remember our conversation the first time we came here?” she asked while we unloaded the bed of the truck.
I smiled and nodded over at the pyramid of bowling balls. “Feels like forever ago.”
“It does.” She sighed, full of happiness.
While she dumped bottles, I headed over toward the book bus. Her words triggered my memory of that day and I scanned the piles of metal littered amongst grass, puddles, and wildflowers. I spied what I wanted, but didn’t pick it up. Instead, I walked inside to talk with the owner to set up a time to come back for it.
Diane gave me an odd look when I returned to the truck, curiosity lingering behind her eyes. I shrugged and said, “Pyramid.”
“You’re up to something, John Day.”
“Maybe I am, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t ruin the surprise.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, then crossed her arms. “Fine. It’s a good thing I’ve grown to like your surprises.”
I hoped she liked this one and she remembered everything about our first trip here.
June brought long days, which didn’t end until late until the evening when we approached the summer solstice.
Diane’s cast came off, finally. I wouldn’t miss getting thwacked in the head, or worse, with it in the middle of the night when she starfished on the bed.
To make her feel better about paying rent, we sometimes spent the time down at her place. Boxes arrived from New York with the belongings she decided to keep. What she didn’t unpack we found room for in my garage.
An old, rusted metal birdcage with a missing door took its place of pride on the fireplace mantel in her cabin.