Epilogue

That evening, they had a quiet dinner at Jon’s house, the pair working in the kitchen together as if they had done it their whole lives. Each time they would pass one another, they would share a kiss or a caress, and more than once, they had to turn down the stove or the oven, as passion overtook them, and their kisses turned into something else.

Finally they sat down to a simple roast-and-potatoes dinner, sitting next to each other in the formal dining room. A single candelabra lit the room, casting delicate, sensuous shadows over everything. They ate in companionable silence, her hand on his leg when it wasn’t cutting her meat. Jon’s arm was curled around the back of Valerie’s chair, and each remembered the dinner they shared at the Ram’s Head Inn mere days ago – days that seem to have lasted a lifetime.

Neither mentioned the inevitable; that in the morning, Valerie would have to pack up and go back to her life. Jon, too, would be packing; for a six-month tour in Europe before coming home to the States again to continue the tour. Neither dared spoil this last evening together with talk of separation, or of the desperate need there will be to see each other again. Both wanted to simply enjoy the moment.

“Leave the dishes,” Jon said, when they were done eating. “I can take are of it after –- ” he stopped. “Well, later.”

Valerie nodded, and they went to bed, holding each other close all night long. They woke several times during the night to kiss or fondle, or gently make love.

After breakfast, Jon helped pack Valerie’s bags into her car, and they went down to the beach for a stroll. It seemed only fitting that since they met on the beach it was here they should say their goodbyes.

“Not goodbye”, Jon said, as he watched a tear track down Valerie’s soft cheek.

“No, not goodbye,” Valerie agreed, seeing the shimmer of tears in Jon’s own eyes. “Just goodbye for now.”

* * * * *

Valerie sat in her office, smiling. It had been two weeks since she came back from the Hamptons, and every day there was a flower or card or some small gift from Jon. She hadn’t been able to talk to him, but she knew he was busy with last minute details of the tour. He would be leaving soon, and would be gone for many months, but still he was courting her. She smiled at the latest note she had received just this morning, along with an exquisite vanilla orchid:

Dearest Valerie:

I could wax poetic about the perfect Ireland-landscape tint of your eyes or the silky soft texture and intoxicating scent of your glorious golden hair, but I won’t.

I could rhapsodize about the sweet, succulent flavor of your kiss or of your smell when I make you come, but I won’t.

I could list a million things I would like to do with you, but I won’t.

Words come easy to me, maybe too easy.

So, I won’t tell you all these things.

I want to show you. When can I see you, feel you, and taste you again? I miss you. I don’t have to leave for another few days, and I want to come to you – to come in you. Please, tell me I can.

Yours for as long as you want me,
Love,
Jon

Valerie reached for her phone and punched in his number.