Come Away With Me. Karma Brown

to have everything ready. The beef bourguignon simmered on the stove, its rich, heady aroma filling the apartment, and the garlic-and-blue-cheese mashed potatoes were ready to go. I’d picked up Gabe’s favorite dessert from a little bakery down the street—a meringue pavlova, piled high with clouds of whipped cream and strawberries, which looked amazingly fresh and succulent despite the winter season.

      A few minutes and a lot of tape later I’d managed to wrap the awkwardly shaped present, adding a silver bow on top. There was no way Gabe wouldn’t know exactly what it was when he saw it, which made me think I should have saved the paper—and my knees, from kneeling on the hardwood floor—and just gone with the bow. I grabbed another bow from the package, a red one, and stuck it to the amp, which by this point I’d wisely decided against wrapping.

      The front door’s lock clicked open and Gabe’s voice echoed down the hall. “Teg? I’m home, babe.”

      I leaned the wrapped guitar beside the amp and went to greet him, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

      “Hey there, birthday boy,” I said, letting him gather me in his arms. His face was cold from the winter’s wind, and I put my hands to his cheeks to warm them. We kissed deeply and I tightened my grip, feeling the fullness of my stomach press into him. “How was your day?”

      “Just fine,” he said, kissing me again. Then he bent down and kissed my belly a few times before giving it a little rub. I ran my hands through his thick, dark hair, feeling the swell of love inside me while he layered me and my protruding stomach with a few more kisses.

      “It smells amazing in here,” he said, finally standing. “Let me guess, beef bourguignon?” He crossed his fingers, a hopeful look on his face.

      I laughed. “Yes, it’s beef bourguignon. With those blue-cheese mashed potatoes you love and a special surprise for dessert.”

      “Sounds so good. I’m starving.” He loosened his tie, his eyes carrying a playful look I recognized. “Just wondering, though. Think everything will hold for say, fifteen minutes?” He unbuttoned his shirt and pants, and was undressed before I could answer.

      I looked him up and down, appreciating his well-toned body and the beautiful olive skin he’d inherited from his Italian mother. I never tired of Gabe. “Of course,” I murmured, lifting my arms so he could pull my red-and-black striped jersey dress over my head. “Take all the time you need.”

      He swept me up in his arms and I burst out laughing, protesting I was far too heavy for such a move.

      “You are perfect,” he said, laying me gently on the couch. “Here...let me show you what I mean.”

      Sixteen minutes later we sat down to eat his birthday dinner, both of us flush-faced and relaxed. And still naked.

      “This is delicious,” Gabe said, his mouth full of the stewed, wine-laden beef and mashed potatoes. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

      “Hold that thought.” I pushed my chair back and headed down the hall. “Now close your eyes,” I shouted from inside our bedroom. “Are they closed?”

      “Yup!”

      I carefully held the pathetically wrapped guitar with both hands and made my way back to the kitchen. “Shit!” I said, when my fingers ripped the paper a little.

      “You okay?” Gabe asked, keeping his eyes closed.

      “Fine. Although I definitely should not go into gift wrapping as a career.” He laughed. “Okay, now open!”

      I stood naked in front of him, one hand on my hip and the other holding the neck of the guitar. “Happy birthday!”

      “Holy shit!” Gabe pushed his chair back so quickly it toppled over. He didn’t even bother to pick it up, but instead walked over to where I stood.

      “I know,” I said, teasingly. “I’m irresistible.”

      “I’m pretty much living out a fantasy here.” Gabe’s eyes were wide. He looked like a little boy who’d just discovered the toy he wanted most in the world was under the Christmas tree with his name on it. “Seriously.”

      I handed him the present, and let him kiss my neck, then my lips. “Happy birthday, Gabe,” I said softly. “Go on, open it.”

      He didn’t need any more encouragement. He ripped the wrapping paper off in one pull and whistled deeply. “Tegan, what the hell have you done?” He looked at me in awe for a brief moment, then back at the guitar. “It’s a fucking Les Paul.” He ran his hands over the guitar’s edges, gently, like he had over my curves earlier.

      “I know,” I said, shrugging. “I decided that hundred-dollar rule was stupid.”

      “I can see that.” His eyes were still on the guitar. Then he looked up at me. “But this is like, way, way over the budget. So you know what that means, right?”

      “What?”

      “It’s open season on presents now,” he said, winking. “I hope you can handle it.”

      I laughed. “Take it easy, tough guy.”

      He grabbed me with his free hand and pulled me into him. “This is the best gift ever,” he said. “Thank you, Teg. I love it.”

      “You’re welcome.” I tilted my head up so his lips could meet mine. “You deserve it.”

      “Well, I don’t know about that, but what do you think about seeing what this thing can do?”

      “Let’s do it,” I said. “Do you want to get dressed first?”

      “Hell, no! I’ve always wanted to play a Les Paul in the nude.”

      “The other thing you’ll need is in the bedroom. It’s unwrapped. I gave up.” I allowed him to pull me over to the couch before he ran to our room to grab the amp.

      I shivered, the heat of our lovemaking and the excitement of the present now fading. I grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and tucked it around me while Gabe plugged the guitar into the amp.

      “Okay, hot stuff,” I said. “Show me whatcha got.”

      He wiggled his eyebrows up and down a few times, then pursed his lips in what he surely thought was a sexy rock star face, and slammed his hand down against the strings. The room filled with an ear-splitting whine that sort of resembled music, and Gabe laughed when I put my hands to my ears. He reached over and fiddled with the amp, then moved his fingers more deftly over the strings, this time producing a sound that would certainly be called a tune.

      As he awkwardly played his way through a classic rock song I recognized but couldn’t name—I was the worst with remembering song titles—stopping every few notes to make a correction, I took a mental snapshot of the moment. Things were perfect. We were beyond happy, and not just because we were newlyweds. We’d been together long enough to know how we felt about one another had little to do with the shiny white-gold bands on our left ring fingers. We had good jobs, healthy families that loved us, great friends, an apartment that was on the small side, sure, but stuffed full of memories. And soon, we’d have a baby. A son.

      Watching Gabe play his birthday guitar, in the nude nonetheless, I wanted nothing more than to stop time. To press the pause button and live in this moment indefinitely. Perhaps I knew deep down what was coming. Or maybe it’s simply that the moment you realize just how perfect everything feels is the moment it’s all about to change. In the blink of an eye, as they say.

      I started to cry. Gabe, still focused on the chords, was oblivious. Until he looked up, a huge smile on his face that wilted the moment he saw the tears.

      “What’s up? What’s wrong?” he asked, hand poised with a guitar pick over the strings. The last note reverberated through the living room. When I didn’t answer right away, he lifted the strap from around his neck and put the guitar down on the ottoman. He kneeled in front of me.

      “Tegan,