Page 78 of From Wink to Kink

The photographer looks genuinely contrite. "I'm really sorry. It's just, you know how it is with candids..."

Chuck sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. It comes with the territory. But next time? Just ask, okay? I'm usually happy to pose for fans."

As the photographer scurries away, I can't help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. This is Chuck's life—constant scrutiny, always being on display, no privacy. It's a world I'm familiar with through my brother’s stories, but living it, experiencing it firsthand, is different.

"You okay?" I ask.

He nods, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I'm used to it. Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize. You handled it really well. You were polite but set your boundaries."

Check-out is a comedy of errors that would be hilarious if my heart wasn't aching. Leaf, our enthusiastic yoga instructor, insists on giving us one last ‘centering exercise’ right there in the lobby. Jazz winks at me and slips what I'm pretty sure is a phone number into my hand, whispering something about "if you ever want to spice things up." And Hans, the retreat leader, presents us with a certificate of completion for a ‘Journey of Sensual Awakening’ that makes me want to laugh and cry, at the same time.

"Thank you all for a... memorable experience," I manage to say.

Chuck, to his credit, handles it with grace and humor. He shakes hands, poses for photos, consensual ones this time, and even does a mock ‘warrior pose’ with Leaf. Watching him, I'm struck again by how easily he navigates social situations, howcomfortable he is in the spotlight. It's a stark contrast to my own awkwardness.

Finally, mercifully, we're done. As we walk toward Chuck's waiting limo—because of course he has a private limo, and this time I’m getting a ride in it—I can't help but feel a sense of surreality. Was this really just a week? It feels like a lifetime ago that I arrived here, annoyed and confused, wanting nothing more than to go home.

Now, as I slide into the plush leather seat, I'm not sure what I want.

The drive to the airport is quiet, the silence between Chuck and me heavy with all the things left unsaid. I stare out the window, watching the lush jungle give way to more urban landscapes. It feels like watching the last week of my life fade away, like waking up from a vivid dream that deserts your memory before you can grab it and keep it.

"Ruby," Chuck says, breaking the silence. "I?—”

"Don't," I interrupt. "Please. Let's just... let's just leave things as they are."

“If that's what you want."

Isit what I want? I'm not sure anymore. But it's easier this way. Safer.

At the airport, we go through the motions of check-in and security. Our first-class seats are nowhere near each other this time, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed. As we stand at the gate, waiting to board, I feel like I should say something. Some grand speech about how this week changed me, how I'll never forget it. But the words stick in my throat.

"So," Chuck says, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I guess this is it."

I nod, swallowing hard. "I guess so."

"Take care of yourself, Ruby," he says, the sincerity in his voice making my heart clench.

"You too," I manage. And then, because I can't help myself, "Try not to get into any more bar fights, okay?"

He laughs, a genuine sound that makes me smile despite myself. "I'll do my best. And you try not to get locked in any libraries."

"No promises," I say, and for a moment, it feels like it did at the beginning of the week—easy, fun, full of possibility.

But our flight is called, and reality crashes into me. We walk down the jetway together, then to our seats in separate rows, and back to our separate lives.

The flight is long and uneventful. I try to read, but the words blur on the page. I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see Chuck's face. So instead, I stare out the window, watching the clouds drift by, and think about what awaits me back home.

Work, for one. The thought of returning to the library, to my books and my routines, is both comforting and oddly disappointing. Will it all seem dull now, after the chaos and excitement of the past week?

And then there's Matthew, my best friend and fellow librarian. What on earth am I going to tell him about this trip?

I can imagine the conversation now:

"So, how was the retreat?" Matthew will ask, probably over our usual coffee and scones.

"Oh, you know," I'll say, trying to sound casual. "It was... interesting."

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