Kissing My Dad's Friend

After the shower, sparkling clean, I change into my civvie clothes, as we’ve started nicknaming our regular outfits, and I feel like a whole new woman. I emerge from the shower and pad over to the cabin that Russ and I share. It’s a little larger than the single ones, which is why we opted for it, even though we knew it might be fast to move straight to living together when we got here.

After all, back at home, I spent the last six months living back at my parents’ place while we were getting all of our paperwork in order and making preparations. But more often than not, I wound up crashing over at Russ’s half the time anyway. So it’s not like moving into the same cabin here was a complete stretch.

And surprisingly, despite the atmosphere and the fact that we’re living somewhere harder than usual, for most new couples testing out cohabitation for the first time… it’s been easy. More than easy. It’s felt right, being here with him. I duck into our cabin, and I spot a note on top of our bed. I stash my scrubs in the closet before I pick it up, feeling a little flutter in my stomach.

I hope it’s not bad news. Some nights we make plans as best we can, but last minute Russ will get called into the OR for an emergency, if a patient takes a turn for the worse. We have to keep ourselves flexible, to work around our schedules so we can do the work we came here to do. It’s rewarding, but that doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating and exhausting sometimes.

But when I flip the note open, I relax, a smile spreading across my face.

Meet you at our place? Is all it says, signed with a little X. Unable to keep myself from grinning, I grab a light jacket from the peg. Sometimes it gets breezy down on the beach, even despite the near constant tropical heat. Late at night, anyway…

Then, all showered and fresh and clean, I pick my way back down the street toward the beach where Russ caught me this morning. It’s become our unofficial spot. Or maybe official, since I’ve heard a few of our colleagues talk about how often they see us heading down there. At what point does something like that become official, I wonder?

When I reach the beachfront, I think I have my answer. I stop dead in my tracks, my jaw dropping.

Russ has set the whole place up like a restaurant. There’s a table and chairs set up, and a big awning draped in fairy lights. I recognize the lights as a set that one of the new arrivals brought with her, a nurse who loves to decorate her cabin back in the compound where we all stay. But the awning and the tables, I have no idea where on earth he scrounged those up.

Or where he got the food he’s serving, because to judge by the scents wafting toward me, if it’s anything like it smells, it will be delicious.

“That doesn’t smell like Taco Shack,” I point out, as I stride across the sand toward my man, waiting beside his creation with his arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

Out over the water, the sun is just starting to set, casting orange and pink lights on the fluffy clouds at the horizon, and making the waves on the ocean seem to sparkle with light, like each one is a tiny gemstone, studded in brilliance. The view takes my breath away.

So does Russ. He dressed up, I realize, wearing slacks and a button down shirt, though he left the top few buttons undone. His only concession to the tropical climate we’re in.

He looks good. Better than good. The sunset highlights the silver lines in his hair and along his jawline. He grew his beard out here, mostly at my insistence, because damn, if you thought the man looked like a silver fox before he let his beard grow, then you have no idea how sexy he looks now.

“You did all this for me?” I ask, as I skip across the last few feet of sand to reach him.

He sweeps me up in his arms and spins me in a little half-circle, before he sets me lightly back on my feet and leans in to kiss me.

Every time he kisses me, I swear, time stops. I loop my arms around his neck, run one hand through his thick, full hair, as his hand twines through mine, too.

When we part once more, we’re both breathless, our eyes alight, glazed with desire. “I called in a few favors,” he explains as he breaks away from me to pull out my chair. I take a seat and let him push it back up to the table’s edge, before he crosses around to sit on the other side of the table.