WHEN I REACHED the entrance to our apartment building, I heard my name. Ian was coming up the sidewalk, looking as tired as I felt.

It was nearly nine, which kind of felt like an early night for him, at least compared to the hours he’d been keeping lately. Of course, fifteen minutes from now, he’d be on his laptop doing work stuff. Most nights, I would as well. How could I keep that from happening tonight?

In the elevator, we talked briefly about our days. The highlight—or lowlight—of Ian's had been a meeting with a new client, a heavy smoker. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” he said.

While he was doing that, I could make him a snack. I didn’t know if he’d had time to eat anything at work.

Looking in the fridge was a depressing exercise in futility. Apparently, people who don’t have time to have sex or fix their marriage don’t have time to shop for groceries, either. So I made him another PBJ. I arranged it on the plate and opened a beer for him. There. That was some high-quality wifeliness on my part.

“What’s this?”

I jumped. I hadn’t heard him come up behind me and—holy crap. He was only wearing black jeans. Bare feet, wet hair, and a glistening expanse of smooth, hard chest. Most of the blood in my system reversed course to a very neglected body part. Now how was I supposed to concentrate?

“Thanks, hon,” Ian said, sitting down at the table. After a moment, I joined him. “This is nice. Never seen parsley on a plate with a peanut butter sandwich before. Very fancy.”

“I wouldn’t eat it—I snipped it from that fern in the living room.”

He chuckled, taking a huge bite of the sandwich. Really, who ate half a sandwich in one bite? My husband, apparently. But it was best not to get fixated on his mouth right now.

“Have you heard from Dan?”

The smile died on his face. “Just a text. He didn’t say much of anything, just that he didn’t want to talk about it. What about Lori?”

“Pretty much the same thing. It sounds bad.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, laying what was left of the sandwich on his plate.

“I just can’t imagine what happened.”

“Maybe one of them cheated.”

“I hope so,” I said, without thinking.

Ian looked at me like I was insane. “You what?”

I flushed under his incredulous gaze. “I just mean ... I hope that one of them was an idiot. That one of them messed up big time. I’d hate to think neither of them screwed up but that this happened anyway.”

“Why’s that?” he said, studying me closely.

“Because I’m afraid it could happen to us.”

He reached out and took my hand. “It’s not going to.”

“You can’t know that,” I said, squeezing his hand harder than I meant to. We couldn’t let things continue on as they were, and I wished I knew how to make him see that. “Don’t you think that if someone had told Lori and Dan that they’d be separating soon, they wouldn’t have believed it, either? Yet they did.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to us.”

“Yeah. But it could.”

“We won’t let it,” he said firmly. As a lawyer, I knew all about using a firm, strong voice. And I also knew that I often employed my firmest voice for my shakiest cases.

“Things are already not so great, Ian. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve spent any time together? Since we’ve really talked about anything except work? Since we’ve had sex? If we’re having problems now, how do we know we won’t end up like them?”

“I just know. I love you. You love me.”

“And Lori loved Dan, and Dan loved Lori. Love’s not a bullet-proof vest that can protect us from harm. I wish it could, but it can’t.”

“There aren’t any guarantees in life, Lyss. You know that. But for what it’s worth, I think we’re going to make it. I want us to.”

“Me too. But ... is ‘wanting’ enough? I can want to look like a supermodel, but if I don’t put in the time at the gym and eat healthily, it’s not going to happen.”

“Not such a great analogy. You already look like a supermodel.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I shook my head. “Be serious.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m being serious. So what do we do, seriously speaking? To put in the time, as you say? Seems like time is the one thing we can’t put in. Unless you know how to create more hours in the week.”

Damn, I wished I did. Wouldn’t that be great? About ten more hours for sleep each week, five for downtime, and five for sex. Maybe ten for sex. What good was a ripped, shirtless husband if I never got to touch him? “We can’t free up much time, I agree. But that doesn't mean we can’t free up any time. We both managed to keep this Saturday free—for all the good it did us.”

“Yeah, but that was for a special occasion.”

“A honeymoon is a special occasion.”

“So, what ... should we try to set the date for that?”

“It would be a start,” I said, my fingers crossed. “I’m worried that five years from now, we’ll still be looking for the perfect time to go.”

“Even if we can carve out a week, we still don’t even know where to go. You want Europe, I want the Caribbean.”

“So? That doesn’t stop us from putting in for the vacation time.”

“It does if we don’t know what part of the world we’re going to. These places have seasons. They have weather. I’m not lying on the beach during a monsoon.”

“You’re not lying on the beach at all unless you can find one in Rome, Vienna, or Prague.”

“See? Impasse.”

“No, it’s not. We solve problems all the time at work. We can figure out where to take our honeymoon. And then we can get it on our calendars.”

“Lyss, we’ve been arguing about this for over a year. Are we really going to make this decision when we’re exhausted after a long day at work?”

“No,” I said, inspired. “We’re going to make it on Saturday.”

“What?”

“Saturday. We actually have the entire day off. Let’s spend it together and figure this out.”

“Our first day off together in forever, and we’re going to spend it hashing this out? I bet that’ll be fun.”

“You bet ... you bet ... you know, we could make it into a bet,” I said, remembering the bartender’s advice about figuring out what motivates us. I was rewarded by seeing Ian’s eyes darkening with excitement. He really was an adrenaline junkie for this kind of thing—thank god he didn’t have a gambling addiction.

“What kind of bet?”

“The winner gets to choose where we go on our honeymoon.”

“But what’s the game? More laser tag?”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. We go back to that place and you’ll instantly go into marketing mode. It needs to be something where we can spend some quality time together. Something where we could reconnect a bit.”

“Something involving sex, you mean,” he said, a gleam in his eye.

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” Actually, I’d say yes, yes, yes, yes, YES.

“Me either. Okay so, Saturday evening, we fuck like bunnies. But during the day … maybe we could engage in some protracted foreplay. Each of us will try to get the other all worked up until we’re begging for it.”

“You mean see who can get the other turned on the most? How would we decide who wins?”

“Hmm ... ” he said, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. “We divide the day in half. One of us gets the morning, the other gets the afternoon. We each plan our half day, plan something we know will drive the other person wild. But no sex, and no orgasms until the evening.”

“And whoever comes up with the best, sexiest, most fun half day gets to decide where we go on our honeymoon?”

“Exactly.” His eyes were sweeping over my body now, and I wished I were wearing something sexy instead of the suit I’d worn to work. “Oh, and one rule. If either one of us gets the other too worked up—like if I get you so hot and bothered that you beg me to fuck you right then and there, then you lose. If one of us breaks down and can’t wait until the evening, it’s an automatic loss. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said, my mind already swirling with erotic possibilities.

Ian stood up and took his plate into the kitchen. He returned and got out his laptop.

“Time to work?” I said, knowing I should go check my e-mail.

“Yeah,” he said. “Time to work ... and time to start planning. Saturday’s in three days. That’s more than enough time to figure out how to bring you to your knees—literally.”

“And after Saturday, I’ll buy you a nice travel guide, so you can research all the European cities we’ll visit.”

“We’ll see,” he said, and I didn’t like his smug, arrogant smile. Well, my mind didn’t like it, but my body liked it just fine judging from my quickening pulse and the warmth spreading across my skin. But I needed to start figuring out how to get his blood boiling and rushing away from his brain. If I could get him to beg to take me on Saturday, then I’d get the honeymoon of my dreams and a sexy encounter with my husband. I had a lot of planning to do, but I couldn’t wait for Saturday.