“Tom Cruise,” she said.
“He’s short.”
Shelby grinned at him. “So am I.”
“Stop,” he said, laughing. “What did he say? What was the line? I’m always looking for a good line.”
“You complete me.”
Luke’s eyebrows rose. “Really? What does that mean?”
“You make me whole…” He frowned at her. “I’m not a whole person without you. You know.”
“Oh,” he said. “I don’t think I could pull that one off.”
She laughed. “We used to make up our own best lines. And talk about what the perfect man would be like.”
“What was your perfect man like?” he asked.
“Nothing like you,” she said. “But then everything changed and it became you…”
“What was your perfect line?” he asked.
“It’s just silly…”
“No, tell me. I want to know.”
“It’s just a line. A fantasy line. You can’t steal it—it wouldn’t be the same if I fed it to you. And if you use it on some other woman, I’m going to tell my Uncle Walt you did something horrible to me so he kills you.”
“Shelby, we’re naked and just had unbelievable sex—death threats right now are rude. Mind your manners. Tell me the perfect line.”
She was quiet for a minute. She chewed on her bottom lip a little, thinking it over. Then in a very soft voice she said, “You’re all I need. To be happy.” Then she lifted her eyelids and connected with his eyes. She smiled shyly. “Just a line. Writing screenplays or romantic novels was once on my to-do dream list.”
He ran his hand over her honey hair. He kissed her temple. “Shelby,” he said softly, “I think you’re all I need to be happy.”
She looked at him for a long time. She smiled into his eyes. “In my fantasy, he doesn’t say ‘I think.’” Then she laughed and said, “So—did your mother convince you to go to Phoenix for Christmas? She said she was going to try.”
“I might go—but for two days. I’m not doing this five-day thing again. I can’t take it when we’re back together. You almost killed me.” He grinned. “Do you realize you went from self-conscious little virgin to aggressor? Shelby, you’ve come out of your shell. Way out.”
“Maybe you brought me out, ever think of that?”
“You must’ve been ready.”
“Oh, I was ready,” she said. She put a hand against his cheek. “For you.”
It was the Saturday following Thanksgiving and Walt wasn’t sure he could remember ever lying in bed with a naked woman in the middle of the afternoon. When he was a young man, not only was the army working him to death, the first baby came along soon after he and Peg married and from that point on their lives were entwined with family and the demands of a military officer’s life. When he became a general, he also had an aide and some household staff. It wasn’t that they were inhibited, neither of them were, but the second they tried something as daring as showering together, one of their teenagers would come home unexpectedly and bang on their door, yelling, “What are you doing in there?”
There was definitely something to be said for being consenting adults of a certain age. He chuckled to himself.
“Something’s funny?” Muriel asked, nuzzling closer.
“Yeah. You and me. Stealing sex in the afternoon with a couple of lazy dogs sleeping at the foot of the bed. This is good, Muriel. Good. And I’m glad there are no ceiling mirrors.”
She laughed at him. “Me, too. Let’s not think about what we must look like.”
“Maybe not what we used to look like, but you still have the body of a girl. You do.”
“Know what I like best about you?” she asked. “Your intelligence. Even though you’re a liar, you know exactly what to say.”
“Well, this might be the wrong thing to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. I haven’t had sex since Peg died. Until you.”
She tilted her chin up, looking at him. “Walt, I haven’t had sex since before Peg died.”
“Really?” he asked, surprised. “That’s amazing. You’re made for sex.”
She frowned. “There was probably a compliment in there somewhere.”
“I’m serious. You’re a wonderful lover. Partner. That’s not too encroaching, is it? Partner?”