“It does resemble shit, just a bit,” he declared with a wink. He had exchanged his khakis and dress shirt for jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and his curls were rumpled like he had neglected to smooth them back down after he pulled his shirt over his head. “Hmm.” Wilson studied the juniper like a wise old owl, walking around it as he bit into a green apple that I suddenly, desperately, needed a bite of. I dropped my file and sighed, throwing up my hands. He was looking at my carving with a perplexed frown. “What is it?” Wilson said behind me, making me jump in surprise. I stepped back from the gnarled piece of juniper I had been filing and swore viciously, using one of Wilson’s favorites. Wilson found me downstairs, skin sleek with sweat, hair twisted in a sloppy braid, my black tank top sticking to my back, making inspiration elusive. The temperature had hovered around 100 degrees all week long, chasing out the last days of school and welcoming the advent of summer. I shuddered to think what August would bring if May felt like being trapped in an enormous dutch oven. It was a Friday evening, I was carving, and the basement was hotter then Bev’s spicy quesadillas.
If he could do that for me, he could that for anyone. He had changed the way I looked at history, especially my own. He had big plans to write historical novels that would change the way people looked at history. So China was on the agenda, and after that, Wilson was going back to school to finish his Master’s degree. It also made me contemplate the years between then and now, and how I had come full circle, happy and content once again. It reminded me of what my grandmother had told me, how I had been such an easy baby. Many people remarked on how happy and content Melody was. I didn’t know how a seven-month-old baby would do on an airplane for that long, but we were flying first class and Tiffa said that of the five of us, Melody was the easiest to please. Tiffa and Jack were coming too, along with Melody.
But we had planned a trip to China to personally deliver my carvings to Mr. Not because he hated his job he loved it. Wilson was itching to be done with the school year. There were no wine glasses and lit candles. When he is slow and careful, peeling back your clothes with reverence and awe, when the words whispered come from somewhere beyond the lust, beyond the need, and are grounded on history, time, and endurance…sex like that is different. When he kisses your mouth and sighs your name, it’s different. It’s different when you love the one who holds you in his arms. ****A WARNING: THIS EPILOGUE CONTAINS SPOILERS****
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