Second Honeymoon

Chapter 88

“A PARIS HONEYMOON, huh? Sounds nice,” I said, pouring myself some more coffee from the stove. We’d just finished dinner and were hanging out in the small sitting area outside the bedroom. As modest as our cabin was, it did, thankfully, have indoor plumbing, a small kitchen, and electricity.

The mosquitoes they threw in for free.

“What about you?” asked Sarah, tugging on the bottom of her sweatshirt from the University of Colorado, Cindy Welker’s alma mater. “Where would you want to spend your…”

Her voice trailed off, her face flushing red with embarrassment. She’d forgotten. I was once married. I’d already had a honeymoon.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine. For the record, we went to Rome.”

“Was it great?”

“It absolutely was,” I said. “Right up until I broke my arm.”

“You broke your arm on your honeymoon?”

“Yep. I tripped and fell down the Spanish Steps while eating a double scoop of chocolate gelato.”

She started to crack up. For someone so attractive, she had this really goofy laugh, almost like Arnold Horshack’s from Welcome Back, Kotter. I liked it.

“I know—how clumsy, right?” I started laughing, too. “Damn good gelato, though.”

It occurred to me that up till now Sarah and I had barely talked about our lives outside of work. Felt pretty good. Natural. I could sense she thought so, too.

“So tell me about your two boys,” she said.

“Ah, my favorite subject…”

I told her about Max and John Jr. while trying to keep the excessive fatherly pride at a minimum. Still, it was hard not to gush, especially given how much I was missing them. When I finally shut up about how great they were, Sarah simply stared at me and smiled.

“What? What’s that look for?” I asked.

“I was thinking how lucky they are to have you as a father,” she said. “They mean the world to you, don’t they?”

“They do, but it’s the other way around. I’m the lucky one,” I said. “Now, what about you? Do you and your boyfriend both want kids?”

She shot me a look. “Nice try, O’Hara. You just want to know if I’m dating anyone.”

“Well, we are on our honeymoon, after all. It’s only fair that I know.”

“In that case, the answer’s no. I’m not currently cheating on you with anybody.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but she stopped me with a raised palm.

“And please don’t tell me how surprising it is,” she said. “You know, the fact that I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Actually, all I was going to say is that I understand. It’s got to be hard for you.”

She looked at me, unsure. “How do you mean?”

“You’re a female FBI agent. You’re trained in hand-to-hand combat and you carry a gun,” I said. “Most guys would be intimidated by that.”

Her look suddenly changed. She was staring back at me as if I’d just tapped into her innermost thoughts. “How did you know that?” she asked.

“Lucky guess,” I said. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m still sleeping on the couch again tonight.”

She started laughing again. We both did. Then we both suddenly stopped.

The cabin had gone pitch black. Every light around us, even the one hanging over the porch outside, had gone dark.

The power was out.