Second Honeymoon. Sandra Field
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his lips down to the cleft in his chin with her fingertip. She had used to find him irresistible.
Not any more.
If he were smart he’d take her advice and get on the first flight out of here. And then he’d accept the job in Arizona. If she did come back to him they could live just as well in Arizona as in Vancouver; with her at his side, he didn’t care where he lived.
She was afraid of love. Afraid of its costs and penalties.
Or else she hated his guts; that didn’t seem too unlikely either.
He adjusted the collar of his blue open-necked shirt and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he replaced his wedding-ring on his left hand.
When he went downstairs only his place was empty at the trestle table; the birders had all been up at dawn and were now ravenously tucking into heaped blueberry pancakes and jugs of hot maple syrup. The buff-breasted sandpiper had been usurped by the long-billed dowitcher as the main topic of discussion. Troy drained his orange juice and helped himself to a pancake.
“Would you like coffee?”
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