But it was. We did.

Over the past few years, especially when I believed Bobby was gone, I told myself that my feelings weren't real. That they were something I had built up and made into some grand thing. That if I saw him again, I would realize it was pre-wedding anxiety that made the time we shared in the attic of the boathouse so intense. That not being able to have him made me love him. His absence. The forbidden fruit. That once I tasted the fruit again, it would have been long past its ripeness, and I would have known our time had passed.

I tried as hard as I could to make that the reality when Bobby returned. Convince him and myself that our feelings had expired. But no, our feelings weren't fruit, they were wine. Stored and aged to perfection, so that now our maturity, pain, and our ability to express ourselves had only made the love richer, fuller.

Our last day at the lake house was less playful. There was less laughter. A shadow of inevitability loomed over us. We understood we had to go back. Neither one of us was ready to hurt Rory, not at this level. Bobby had just reunited with his brother, whom he loved very much, and I would not make him choose. I had been Rory's wife for seven years, and we had built something together. Something imperfect and messy, but it was something. And Bobby had left once before. If he wanted me to leave my life behind to be with him, he would have to be clear and committed. Two perfect weeks weren't enough to erase seven painful years. We had our time and hoped it might be enough.

On our last perfect evening, I sat with Bobby on the porch swing, wrapped in his arms as he sat behind me.

“How do we go back?” I asked him.

“We just do,” he murmured into my hair. He sighed. “We just do.”

“This isn't fair.”

“It's not.”

“When do we get our happiness? When has Rory had enough of it?” I demanded. “When do we stop caring what other people think?”

“We'll know when.”

“What if it's never?” I asked.

He held me tighter. “It won't be never. I have to believe that. Just like I believed I'd see you again.”

“When will you be okay with doing this to Rory?”

“I don't know if I'll ever be okay with it,” he confessed. “I hate myself every day and yet, my love for you is stronger than that hate. When will you be okay with walking away from him?” He flipped the question on me.

“I'm scared. I don't know why. I guess it's like when an animal has lived in a cage and you open the door and it won't crawl out. But being out here with you, I've had a taste of life outside the cage, and I don't know how long I can stay back in it.”

“There's so much I want to show you, Lil,” he murmured into the back of my neck.

“There's so much I want you to show me.” I nuzzled deeper into his arms. “This weekend will be hard. He'll be home and I have to pretend . . . like you mean nothing to me.”

“I'll understand.”

“Doesn't it drive you mad?”

“I've had to deal with Rory having you for a long time now. There's no room for jealousy. I'd have lost my sanity a long time ago.” He kissed the top of my head, “Let's enjoy our time left. Tomorrow will come. And what will happen, will come.”

Though we didn't have a plan, Bobby had a way of putting me at ease. I still felt like, somehow, this could all work out.

“Notice something?” I asked.

“A man can never win by answering that question.”

“How about now?” I held my hand up.

“You still have it,” he uttered in disbelief.

“I kept it here because I was afraid Rory might see it and recognize it,” I admitted, admiring the pale apricot ring sparking under the porch light.

“You wear it well. I'll admit, I didn't ask because I thought you might have forgotten about it.”

“Never,” I protested. “That was all I had left of you.”

“I have a surprise for you.” I felt Bobby smile behind me.

“Oh, dear,” I teased. “I don't know if I trust your surprises.”

“Well, you're gonna. You cannot open your eyes. Understand?”

I sat up and turned to face him, covering my eyes and then splitting two fingers to peek through.

“None of that! I'll get a pillowcase if I have to.”

“Okay. Okay!” I laughed. “Cross my heart. But if you throw me in the water, it will be the last thing you ever do. They'll find your body floating in that lake, ya hear?”

“Let's not get too confident just because you carried a couple cans of paint up a flight of stairs. Now come on.” He swept in and lifted me off the ground. I yelped as he scooped me up. “Lil. Cover. Your. Eyes.”

“Okay!” I giggled.

I kept my promise, unable to wipe the smile off my face as he carried me off to an unknown destination. I had a hunch I was going towards the lake, and I reminded him more than once that his life was in mortal danger if he dunked me in there. But it was when I smelled the old damp wood, heard the creak of his footsteps in the narrow staircase, and felt him duck before lowering me to my feet that I realized where he was taking me.

“Okay, you can look,” he said.

I gasped as I opened my eyes. Somehow he managed to fix up the boathouse attic behind my back. The place we both went to in our fantasies these past seven years. The setting of the scene I had relived over countless sleepless nights and that Bobby used as a way to escape the horrors of war.

Little lights flecked the ceiling. A thin layer of transparent cloth draped across the lights, softening their glow. The ratty couch was covered with a fresh blanket. The furniture was polished and fresh. The walls were peppered with glowing misshapen stars, and I spotted the source: a lampshade in which he had stenciled star shapes.

I was overwhelmed with the gesture, but sadness swept over the joy. Just like the first time here, we'd have to go back to the lives we didn't want. This just reminded me of the fact that I made the wrong choice seven years ago.

“This is beautiful,” I said, as my voice cracked.

“I didn't mean to upset you.”

I turned to face him, unwilling to spoil the moment with my sadness. “Shut up, Bobby.” I grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Or not,” he mumbled into my mouth. Bobby wrapped his arms around my waist, making me feel small and safe as he spun, seating me on the edge of the table where he first kissed my breasts and slid his fingers into me when I was still a virgin.

So few people get to relive their most precious memories, but even with our terrible luck, we had this privilege. This time I wore overalls over an old t-shirt from Bobby's youth. He slid down each strap, letting it collapse down to my waist, and pulled my shirt off.

On this warm summer night, Bobby was already shirtless and the little warped stars he had carved into the lampshade stamped along the dark shadow of his torso, like a child's rendering of the night sky.

He crouched for his lips to meet my lips. Softly. Barely pressing against them. Then he did the same to each nipple: Soft kisses, gentle tugs with his teeth so that I writhed under the sensation of his mouth on the sensitive points. He littered the valley between my breasts with kisses as he dug a hand into my hair and tugged, arching my neck to allow himself room to roam. As he dotted my neck with traces of his lips, the other hand reached between my legs and softly glided along the damp skin, readying me for his entry.

I purred as two fingers slid into me, while Bobby gently tugged my earlobe with his teeth. He pushed me back against the wall by my neck as his fingers curled and massaged inside of me. My spine arched, offering my pert breasts to satisfy his appetite. His mouth roved over the plump flesh. Kissing it. Sucking the pale skin around my nipples. As if they were rooted in the same source of pleasure, his mouth on my breasts caused everything below to light up in ecstasy. I lifted my hips against his hand, greed and lust overtaking me.