He
he could read her mind. “Long enough,” was his answer. “I grieved, Melissa. Long and hard. I loved her dearly. But it’s been long enough.”As they approached the Roths’ house—the Roth and Abrabanel house, now, since the arrangement had by mutual agreement become permanent—Rebecca turned and leaned into Mike. He folded her into his arms and they began kissing.
Five minutes later, more or less, they separated. Not far. Maybe half an inch.
“I must speak to your father,” Mike said softly.
Rebecca nodded, her head against his chest. “How do you want to do this, Michael?” she whispered.
“Your father?”
She shook her head. “No, no, not that.” She smiled, still against his chest. “I do not think, now, that will be the problem I once assumed. I am not certain, but after what Melissa said—”
She nuzzled his shoulder. “He has been reading this philosopher named Spinoza, lately. He smiles a lot. At me, especially. And now and then I see him smiling at you. As if he knows something we do not.”
Mike chuckled. “He probably does, at that.”
Rebecca leaned back and looked Mike in the eyes. “I will do whatever you wish,” she said softly.
Mike studied her in the moonlight. Her eyes were like dark pools, soft, limpid, loving.
“You would prefer it slowly,” he said. The statement was a simple declaration.
Rebecca hesitated. Then, ruefully: “Not entirely!” Her hands were suddenly pressing into his