Second Honeymoon. Laura Abbot

who waited by the trunk of the car, her arms folded across her chest. He was inclined to say, “So what if I do?” but thought better of it. Meg had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t happy to be there. At least not alone with him.

      He pressed the button on his key chain to open the trunk, then pulled out their bags.

      Meg eyed the log cabin with its deep front porch. “Do you think it’s the same one?”

      “Seems familiar.”

      “All the cabins look alike. I guess it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her overnight bag out of his hand. “I’ll take that.”

      Toting the two larger suitcases, he followed her onto the porch and fumbled in his pocket for the key. When the door swung open, he winced, recalling his insistence twenty years ago that he carry his bride over the threshold. Then another memory swept through him. That day the bags had been left on the porch, forgotten. He’d taken her directly to the bedroom where he’d hurriedly undressed her, shed his own clothes and made love to her beneath the goose-down comforter, not caring that they hadn’t turned on the heater. They’d created their own warmth with the delicious friction of skin on skin, with kisses hot and passionate and an abandon born of impatience.