Page 54 of Forbidden Fruit

We spend the afternoon exploring the reef, snorkeling side by side in the crystal waters. Occasionally, she'll point excitedly at some colorful fish or peculiar coral formation, her eyes wide with wonder. Later, as the sun begins its descent, we make love on the deck of the boat and let the waves set our rhythm.

"I never knew it could be like this," she whispers afterward, her head resting on my chest.

I stroke her hair, understanding precisely what she means. Sex with Kay had become perfunctory years before our divorce—a transaction rather than a connection. With Becca, it feels like rediscovering something I'd forgotten existed.

"We should head back," I say reluctantly as the sky begins to take on sunset's warm oranges and pinks. "Get cleaned up for dinner."

"Do we have to?" she pouts, tracing lazy patterns on my chest.

"I thought we might try that little place in town. The one with the string lights and the mariachi band."

Her eyes light up. "The place we saw on our first night?"

"That's the one." I press a kiss on her forehead. "Something casual. No designer dresses, no business suits."

"Just us," she says softly.

"Just us."

We sail back to the house, the setting sun casting long golden rays across the water. After showering—together, which takes considerably longer than it should—we dress simply. I'm in khaki shorts and a linen shirt, while Becca wears a flowing sundress that makes her look like she belongs on these beaches.

"You're beautiful," I tell her as she slips her hand into mine.

We walk into town, enjoying the cooling evening air rather than taking the car. The restaurant is exactly as I remembered—vibrant and authentic, with the scent of grilled seafood and spices wafting from the kitchen. We're seated at a small table on the patio, fairy lights twinkling overhead like earthbound stars.

"Two margaritas,por favor," I tell the waiter, who nods approvingly.

Becca looks around, taking in the locals and tourists mingling, the musicians tuning their instruments in the corner. "This is perfect," she says. "Not a wedding planner or corporate executive in sight."

"Just a man and a woman enjoying dinner."

Our drinks arrive salt-rimmed and cold. We clink glasses.

"To unexpected journeys," I toast.

"And to being brave enough to take them," she adds.

The first sip burns pleasantly, the tequila warming my chest. We order a spread of tacos, guacamole, and grilled fish. The food comes quickly, and we fall into easy conversation punctuated by laughter and the occasional brush of fingers across the table.

"What happens when we go back?" she asks suddenly, her voice quiet beneath the music.

I consider my answer carefully. "We should probably be discreet at first."

"Play it safe," she nods, a flash of disappointment crossing her features.

"Just until the dust settles with Jack," I clarify. "I don't want him making your life difficult."

"And Kay?”

"Kay will always be Kay. She'll posture and threaten, but ultimately, she cares more about how things appear than anything else." I take another sip of my drink and lean back in my chair.

Becca toys with her glass. "Do you think we can really make this work?"

"I think," I say, reaching across to take her hand, "that I've never wanted anything to work more. But I need you to be sure, Becca. This isn't a rebound for me."

The mariachi band strikes a lively tune, and couples begin moving to a small dance floor near the corner of the patio. Becca's eyes follow them, and she has a wistful expression on her face.

"I've never felt more certain about anything," she says, returning to me. "That's what terrifies me. I spent years with Jack, convinced I was doing the right thing, checking all the boxes." She takes a long sip of her margarita. "What if I'm wrong again?"

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