Honeymooning

 
“Just tell me how lost we are, darling,” Janet said, pulling the passenger side mirror down to check her lipstick. “Are we find-a-cappuccino lost? Because I think we may have to be if we don’t get to this resort soon.” She looked at Tom, his cowboy hat pushed back on his head as he craned his neck to get a glance at a street sign.

Finding their way to their final destination had been the most difficult part of their honeymoon so far. Janet Morgan, who’d been married to Tom Morgan for the last seventeen hours, was blissfully happy, or would be as soon as Tom looked like he knew where he was going. But everything else had gone perfectly so far. The fact that Tom had wanted to plan their honeymoon, and the argument they’d had over that fact, was in the distant past.

The plane ride from San Francisco to Oahu had been smooth—Tom had even splurged on business class, which Janet hadn’t expected but had appreciated. She’d had room to lazily knit the scarf she was making, and had napped with it bundled against Tom’s shoulder. The rental car was nice and roomy, with all the amenities. He said he’d gotten a great deal on the resort, and seemed proud that he’d done it all on the computer. Being on the internet—that wasn’t Tom. Being up on a horse, herding sheep through rolling hills, feeding livestock in the barn,
that
was Tom. Kissing her with two-day stubble so that her cheeks burned, and laughing when she complained half-heartedly that he smelled like a wet horse, that was Tom, too.

 
And those huge dark eyes, and the way they’d filled yesterday when he’d said in a voice meant just for her, “I do,”
that
was her Tom. Janet’s heart swelled. Even now, she couldn’t believe her luck that this man, six foot three and broad, smelling of the wind and sun instead of cloying expensive aftershave,
 
had fallen in love with her as hard as she’d fallen for him.

 
This wasn’t her first marriage. She’d been here, done this before. But not with Tom, and that made all the difference. Her first husband…well. She’d loved him in her way, she supposed, and he’d taught her so many things: how to enter a room and expect attention, how to build a business,
 
how to chill Veuve Cliquot and under what circumstances it should be drunk. She learned to use her intelligence to become the woman she was now, a woman that people admired. She commanded any room she was in, thanks to his tutelage. He’d even taught her not to show the pain she felt every time he cheated on her. She’d absorbed his lessons so well that, after she’d left the bastard and taken the client list, her cashmere imports became the best in the nation. She wasn’t the only woman who’d learned to appreciate luxury.

She had expected that her future lovers would continue to be attorneys, doctors, stock-market racketeers; people who spoke her language. And then along came Tom. Maybe he didn’t know Veuve Cliquot from Asti Spumanti, and after working on the ranch he had to shake hands with a box of Boraxo as soon as he came in the house, but his heart was first-class all the way. He had the biggest brown eyes she’d ever seen, with lashes that would make a woman jealous, but his jaw was as chiseled as the cliffs of the coastline, as if all the years he’d spent working Cade MacArthur’s sheep farm had carved grooves into him, too. He drove a Ford truck, not a Mercedes, but he could fix a flat tire on her Saab in under ten minutes, something she bet the other men she’d dated would never have even dreamed of trying. They’d have called AAA and told her to buy better tires next time.

Tom was perfect for her. Her lips twitched upward. Yes, dammit. She was smiling again. She was always smiling now.

 
“We’re fine. We’re on the right road. At least, I think we are.” Tom lifted her hand distractedly and kissed the back of it before returning it to her lap. Her ring, a small diamond solitaire, winked at her and her heart gave that sudden lurch, as it had before they married, when she dreamed about being Mrs. Morgan. At one time in her life, she’d had diamonds bigger than this on purses she carried to the opera. Her new ring held the tiniest, sweetest, most-loved jewel she’d ever had, and if someone said she had to give away all her other jewels in order to keep just this one, she would.

 
“Here,” said Tom triumphantly. “Here it is. Moonlight Escape. See, I told you we were close.”

 
He was so excited he was almost bouncing in his seat. It was Tom’s first trip to Hawaii, and while it wouldn’t have been Janet’s first pick of honeymoon destinations, they had plenty of time ahead of them to travel. Tom had insisted on planning the whole trip, and it made her happy to see him so excited.

With some surprise, Janet realized she was just the tiniest bit nervous. This was
it
. They were together, really married, and soon, they’d be on a bed, naked, with nothing more planned for the weekend but to stay as naked as possible. She warmed at the thought. All the lovers she’d ever had put together couldn’t do half of what Tom could do to her with a single look followed by a kiss. The touch of his mouth scorched her, pushing every rational thought out of her head.

Thank God they’d be at the resort soon. While she wanted to wrap her arms around Tom and kiss him breathless, they were both exhausted, too. The wedding,
 
held at the MacArthur ranch, where Tom had worked for the his whole adult life, had been crazy and wonderful—they’d been married under the full moon, next to the spreading arms of the old oak tree. Janet had worn a simple white dress and a diaphanous white shawl Abigail MacArthur had knitted for her that was light as a cobweb, from a pattern that was too complicated for Janet to ever want to make herself. The party in the barn had gone on for hours, and Tom and Janet had danced and danced. Then suddenly someone looked at a watch, dragged them off the dance floor, and put them in the car for the long trip to San Francisco airport. They’d been traveling ever since. Janet had half-heartedly tried to get Tom to join the mile-high club, laughing at his shock, but even she had to admit that it would have been impossible to fit both his large, incredibly sexy frame in that tiny bathroom without complicating things by trying to fit herself in, too.

 
Soon, then. They hadn’t slept in the same bed for two days leading up to the wedding, and she couldn’t wait to get naked and stay that way. That’s what a honeymoon was all about, right? And Janet was getting the idea that perhaps honeymooning in your late forties was the right way to do it—you knew what you liked, and you weren’t afraid to ask for it.

 
Tom turned left across the highway, bumping the car over the rutted dirt road. “Isn’t this great?”

 
“Charming. I love dirt roads,” she said dryly. But Janet didn’t mind it, actually. Not if it was Tom was driving her over them.

 
Tom laughed. “You’re gonna love this place. The pictures on the website were great. Our own little house, overlooking the
ocean
.” Tom said it as if he didn’t see the Pacific every day of his life from the back of his horse.

 
“Will the ocean look different here, do you think?” she said, turning in her seat so that she could watch him and see the happiness that radiated from his eyes. She knew the ocean did look different, that he’d be excited by the unexpected azure color, the way white foam gleamed from the waves—she wanted to witness every expression on his face.

“It’ll be different, I guess,” he said, palming the wheel with his callused hand on a sharp right turn. Low hanging vines slapped the windshield. “I mean, we’re in a different state, and that only happened to me once before, when I went to Tijuana with buddies after high school.”

“That’s not a…”

“Not a state,” he grinned. “I know. Whole different country and all. But after all that tequila, I was in a state I’m still not recovered from. Holy
crap
.” Tom pointed to the left. “Would you get a load of them.”

The dense undergrowth had been cleared out, and a small patch of carefully cultivated grass lay beneath a rustic wood picnic table. As they drove by, a group of four older people, two women and two men, turned to look at their car. Each one of them waved cheerily, and through the window, Janet could see them mouth, “Aloha!” Their arms waved as if they were performing for a pageant, elbow, elbow, wrist.

Each one of them was stark, staring naked.

 
Tom’s mouth hung so far open Janet was quite sure they’d been able to see his tonsils as they drove past, but she had to admit, even she was surprised. Nude was one thing, on a beach, perhaps, but naked sitting next to a road was, well... really naked. She’d only planned on seeing one man without his clothes on today, and those two elderly gentlemen at the picnic table hadn’t exactly been what she had in mind.

 
“Ain’t they worried about gettin’ sunburned? You see that one guy? He looked like a boiled tomato,” said Tom, finally able to speak again.

 
“Well, they’re probably locals. From a commune or something. Having their lunch al fresco,” said Janet.

 
Tom said, “Huh.”

 
He turned the car down another even smaller drive marked “Moonlight Escape. Private: Registered Guests Only,” and pulled to a stop in front of a small sky-blue building that matched the sky above and echoed the water below. The grounds were well-manicured, and the design was tasteful. Understated.

Oooh. Someplace like this would have cold bottled water, and sparkling wine on ice. Tom had done well. She kissed him over the gear shift as he pulled up the parking brake. “I love it already,” she murmured.

 
“Come on, sugar, you’re in for a treat.”

 
He helped her out of the car as he always did—one of the first things that had attracted Janet, after his belt buckle and the way his shoulders looked in blue chambray, was his instinctive gentlemanliness. He held her hand as they walked the crushed-shell pathway into reception.

 
Inside, the desk clerk was an older woman, with probably twenty years on Janet’s forty-eight. She had ruddy cheeks topped by a mop of blond curls that was held up by a clever red satin ribbon.

 
The ribbon was the sum total of her wardrobe.

Tom’s eyes snapped shut, and Janet almost didn’t blame him. The desk clerk’s nipples were somehow…shocking. It was difficult not to gawk at the enormous, light-pink discs against her fairer skin. They were the size of dinner plates. Luckily, the desk was hiding most of her nether regions; Janet prayed she wouldn’t stand up, or she’d have to worry about Tom having a stroke.

 
“Aloha,” the woman said, with a friendly smile. “We’re so glad you’ve arrived. I’m Ginny, and you must be the Morgans, am I right?”

 
“Oh, you’re sweet. How did you guess?” asked Janet, inserting enthusiasm into her voice. Tom still hadn’t opened his eyes. She elbowed him the slightest bit, and he looked up at the ceiling as if the light fixture was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

 
“You’re our only guests arriving today. The other cottages are just full up—the whole island is, ‘cause of that marathon—and aren’t you lucky you got this one! You’re just going to love it. We have all your paperwork together, all I need is a signature right here.” Ginny leaned forward, her breasts supported by the counter, and held the pen out to Tom. “Here you go.”

 
Tom, looking pale, took the pen and signed, all while keeping his eyes on the skylight. “Thanks. Yeah. Uh-huh,” he mumbled.