Collision

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“End of the honeymoon,” Emily said. “You tired of me yet?”

“Absolutely.” Ben Forsberg watched her standing at the sink at the rental house’s kitchen, smiled as the light from the Maui sun played across her face. “I’ve already called several divorce lawyers. Probably be best if we didn’t sit together on the flight home.”

“And I thought it was just me.” She gave him a glance over her shoulder, bit at her lip, fought down the grin. “This marriage was a huge mistake.”

“I’m consumed with regret.”

She flicked water at him and came to the kitchen table where he sat. She slid into his lap and he took her in his arms. He gave her a long, slow, unhurried kiss. She kissed him back, ran her foot along his calf, and then stood.

“I was kidding,” he said.

“I know, Einstein. Go shower. You smell like golf.”

“What does golf smell like?”

“Sweat, grass, sunshine, and frustration. Usually in that order.”

“What’s the smell of frustration?” he asked, starting to laugh.

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