This hotel has a bar in the center of one of its five pools. All you need to do is float out to where a shirtless bartender is standing in waist deep water underneath a straw-thatched roof. He’s surrounded completely by a circular wooden bar, and there are underwater stools just waiting for you to plop down and enjoy a drink. If I needed any convincing that Justin had chosen the perfect spot for our honeymoon, all that convincing went out the window. I’m lying on my stomach, the sun sizzling above me, and as soon as I’m ready to scrape myself off this reclining chair and roll into the water, I’ll be getting a Mai Tai.

Married life is the best life. At least, when it involves Hawaii.

At least, when it involves Hawaii and my husband emerging slow motion from the pool. Yes, my toes are curling, and I’m sliding my sunglasses down my nose to get a clear look. The pool water is running in rivulets down his sculpted physique, and his swim trunks are clinging to his legs, accentuating every lean line of muscle. The water shines in his hair, and it catches the growing stubble on his squared jaw in just the right way. I love it when he doesn’t shave for a day.

I love to feel that stubble everywhere, on every part of my—

This is a family pool. Children are cannonballing to the right. Behave yourself.

Eh, I have to scratch that raunchy idea, partly because of common decency and partly because I’m inwardly comparing Justin’s god-like physique with my own. And you know, I’m not one of those needy, shy women who can’t think a good thing about myself. At least, not when I’ve got all my clothes on. But in situations where everyone is scantily clad, and there is a whole crew of lithe young under-twenty-five women running around in string bikinis, with everything that needs to bounce bouncing and everything that needs to be flat as flat as an economics professor’s monotone, it’s a little hard to feel comfortable in your own skin.

This would be a great time to be able to steal someone else’s skin, but I’m not yet sick and twisted enough to entertain that option. Not yet.

“You should get in. The water’s amazing.” Justin towels off and drops down beside me on his own chair. He leans over, kissing my bare shoulder. Mmm, a few cool droplets of water trail across my skin, waking me out of my sluggish stupor just enough. I roll over onto my side, look up at my husband with what I hope are languorous bedroom eyes. Odds are I look like I’m squinting, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.

That water is refreshing. I wonder what it’d be like to lean over and lick the water off Justin’s—

Not in public, Charlotte. Again, you’re a mom of three kids. Your husband’s going to think you’re ridiculous if you start panting and slavering all over him.

I hate reality sometimes.

But then Justin leans over, and his lips are cool against mine. It’s only the briefest of tastes—way too brief—but it melts me. Crisped by the sun on the outside, molten internally because of carnal instincts: it’s a good day.

“Want to get a drink at the bar?” He slides a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Or walk down to the beach?”

A drink is fun, but a walk is better. There’s a chance we’ll find a quiet, sheltered corner with no tourists and hardly any seagulls and then we can give in to passion.

“A walk sounds very fun.” I quirk my eyebrow in what I hope is a suggestive look. Justin stands up, slides on his sandals, and pulls me to my feet. His hand slips into mine effortlessly. Just like the days before we got pregnant, got married, had kids, crammed to get through law school. Those two years when it was just us wandering the campus, drinking at the local dive until two, lounging in bed all Sunday long with frequent bursts of, ah, activity.

Is it crazy to hope we can recover some of those feelings? I don’t think it is.

Of course, as we’re walking away from the pool I do catch a glimpse of a gorgeous young woman. And I mean Victoria’s Secret airbrushed levels of perfection. She’s tall, thin, lissome and blonde, with a fresh, suntanned face and white teeth displayed in a stunning smile. I do catch Justin looking at her for a second—hardly a crime, since I’m staring as well. Still, that moment, that glimpse, drags me back down to earth a bit. We can’t go all the way back to being twenty years old, because gravity and three kids have done a number on me in the intervening years.

Not that I don’t look good, or like myself. But Sebastian was the one that put the nail in the coffin of my beach body, and I’m never getting those three inches of waist back.

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something.” Justin tightens his grip on my hand. “You okay?”

“Thinking about the kids.” I all but sigh. “I guess that’s what I’ve got to talk about these days. The kids. Feeding the kids. Bathing the kids. Well, not Sawyer. That’d be weird at her age.”

“What should we talk about that isn’t child related?” We walk off the concrete path and onto the sand now. The wind’s whipping up overhead, shaking the green palm fronds against the shockingly blue sky. Justin leans over and kisses my cheek. There. Off to a good start. “Reading any good books these days?”

“Yes.” It’s in my mind and out my mouth before I can stop it. “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.” Damn, Charlotte. You really know adult conversation. “Sage, ah, loves that for bedtime reading.”

“Hey, at least you’re reading anything that isn’t legal briefs. I envy you.” He places his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I inwardly kick myself. Like I said earlier, I have nothing interesting to offer. I’m like a cherished family nanny that can give really good handjobs if just given the chance.

“We’ve become those people, haven’t we?” I sigh and lean my head against my husband’s shoulder. “The Smith-Waterman people.”

“Who?” Then Justin gets it, and stops dead. His eyes widen in horror that is only slightly pretend. “No, not Harry and Margot. We haven’t become them yet.”

“It’s getting closer.” Harry and Margot Smith-Waterman were a couple we met at a dinner party a few years ago. He was an accountant, she was a stay at home mom, and they were so boring that I had to jab a salad fork into my thigh to stay awake. Justin didn’t even manage that trick; I had to nudge him in the ribs a few times when he started snoring. When we got home, we could barely get enough breath from laughing so hard. We did Harry and Margot impressions all while getting ready for bed. When we were in bed and getting frisky, the imitations stopped, because that would’ve been a little too weird.

“Think about it,” I tell Justin, facing him and twining my hands in his hair. God, this man still has such glorious hair. “All I can do is talk about, what was it? Oh, yeah. My ‘precious, precious children.’” I roll my eyes. “Margot always had to double down on her adjectives. Probably because she had so few words in her arsenal. Remember? Precious, precious children. Nice, nice lobster. Flaccid, flaccid penis.”

Oh, shit. I blush, but Justin throws back his head and laughs. That sets me all a-tingling.

“God, Harry was worse. ‘What is this, water?’” Justin does a fantastic interpretation, with the world’s flattest monotone and squinty eyes. “’Mmm, water is my favorite flavor. Are those walls beige? Beige is my favorite color.’”

Now I’m the one who’s laughing too hard. I even start sliding down to my knees, putting me eye level with my husband’s, well, most cherished appendage. If we’re alone, this might be a good time to get busy. Nothing turns me on more than making fun of the Smith-Watermans.

“We’re never going to be Harry and Margot. So what if we need to pick up some new books, or get out more?” Justin pulls me back to my feet, brushing my hair over my shoulder. His fingers skim my neck, making me flush harder. “You make me laugh, Char. More than anyone.” His blue eyes meet mine. My lips part, and I find I’m speechless. The way he’s looking at me, it’s like—

“Watch out!”

And before I can turn to find who shouted at us, a volleyball comes right the fuck out of nowhere and beams my husband in the side of the head. Justin stumbles, but doesn’t fall. I, on the other hand, can’t help shrieking, hands clamping over my mouth. And that’s before I hear someone say,

“Man. That, like, went rogue, didn’t it? You okay?”

I can guess at what he looks like before I even see him. A white guy with a scraggly beard and dreads in his hair, skin bronzed from the tropical sun and the hint of marijuana in the air around him. He walks over to us to collect his ball, and to his credit, Justin stands fine and nods at the beach bum.

“Never better.” Justin tosses the ball back, but my wifely indignation is up.

“You clearly don’t know how to play,” I snap. Maybe I shouldn’t be this angry at a perfectly harmless hippie, but that’s the father of my children, dammit.

“Sorry, lady,” the guy grumbles. Behind him, there’s an entire volleyball game that’s stopped to watch this unfold. It consists of a group of attractive suntanned people and, yep, as luck would have it, there’s the unbelievably beautiful girl I saw by the pool. She’s joined the onlookers, and she’s cheering me on.

“Yeah, Avery!” she yells at the hippie guy. “She’s right. You’re totally the worst!”

Avery scratches his shaggy head and tosses me the volleyball. “You wanna, like, show me how it’s done?” There’s a challenge in his voice. This child does not know whom he’s messing with.

“Don’t look at me.” Justin grins, his eyes crackling with amusement. He knows I was a killer at college volleyball. “I played football. But my wife’s going to eat you alive.”

I smile, and hit the ball perfectly. It sails through the air, arcing over the net. I do believe Avery goes green beneath his tan.

“Game on,” I say.

Half an hour later, I’ve wiped out the early twenty-something competition, and I’m feeling like a goddess. A goddess whose shoulders are starting to burn, but still. Justin’s watched this whole time, arms crossed over his chest. I think he looks proud.

That, or baffled that I’m wasting precious honeymoon time playing with a bunch of kids. That sours my victory a little bit.

“Game over. Lady, you’re super good for, like, a mom.” Avery high fives me, a good sport. “Listen. We’ve got a little luau going on the other side of the beach later tonight, if you guys are free?”

“I mean, what do you think?” I turn to Justin, wondering if he wants to have a more private party in our suite. Even though the food might be good, and I’ll bet we’d get a nice secondhand buzz just being around all these kids. Justin wraps himself around me from behind, arms around my waist. He kisses my shoulder.

“A bunch of desperate twenty-somethings and weed? This is the only way to relive college,” he teases.

Well. A little bit of disappointment notwithstanding, I think a trip down memory lane would be nice. Especially if there’s roast pig.