Nadine lay her hand on Andre’s forearm, and he looked up from his book. First, he saw her hand, and then his gaze followed up her arm, up to her shoulder, to her smiling lips, and finally stopping at her eyes. Her sunglasses rested on the top of her head, her brown hair that had recently been slicked back from her dip in the ocean was now partly dried.
“I love you,” she said.
He smiled back at her and replied, “I love you too, honey.”
Her hand slid down his forearm, her fingers diving between his palm and the book, then diving into the space between his fingers, so that she grabbed a hold of his hand.
“I love moments like this,” she said. “Moments where I’m not rushing around doing a thousand things.”
“Yeah,” her husband replied. “No work, no chores. Just vacation time. Wish we could do this for longer.”
She nodded and turned away from him at her side, looking forward from where they sat on beach chairs, to their two kids playing in the ocean. Not really playing, though. They were full of the self-consciousness of teenagers, of wanting to look cool. It was much different than years ago, when they were full of play. Back when a vacation at the beach was full of squeals and laughter and running in and out of the ocean that seemed to invite play, with the waves continually crashing down and coaxing you to join in the fun. Nadine sighed. The squeals of their kids were a thing of the past.
“They’re going to be out of the house soon,” she said.
Andre followed her thinking smoothly. “Yeah.” There was a sadness in that “yeah.” A sadness, but also a resolve, knowing that he couldn’t stop it and was dealing with it.
“What are we going to do with ourselves with that happens?” she asked.
He squeezed her hand and answered, “I’m sure we’ll find something to do. We certainly knew how to have fun before they were born.”
They turned away from their kids to again look at each other. The time before the kids were born seemed eons ago. She loved him for saying that. Loved the look on his face that invited the more open, pre-kids fun to return. Loved the firmness of his grip on her hand. His hand with his wedding ring on it. His hand that had held hers during walks on beaches and dates to restaurants. His hand that had caressed her all over her body, and had made her feel exquisite pleasure. It wasn’t the hand that had spanked her in a few of their kinkier escapades, since he was right-handed. But that hand had helped to manhandle her from out of his lap to where she was bent on the bed, her knees on the carpet. And that hand had gripped her ass cheek tightly when he thrust hard into her. A tingle danced up her spine over the memory of those times.
“Yes,” she said with an impish smile. “We most certainly know how to have fun.”