She turned back, electrified by what she saw in his eyes. “I wanted to, just once.” When he just continued to stare, her shyness rose up and had her twisting her fingers. “I bought the champagne and the dress while I was in town yesterday. I thought it would be nice to do something a little special tonight.”
“I’m afraid if I move you’ll vanish.”
“No.” She offered her hand and gripped hard when he took it. “I’ll stay right here. Why don’t you open the bottle?”
“I want to kiss you first.”
Her heart went into her smile as she wound her arms around his neck. “All right. Just once.”
They ate. But the trouble she had gone to over the meal was wasted. They didn’t know what they were tasting. Champagne was superfluous. They were already drunk on each other. The candles burned down low while they lingered.
They carried some up to the bedroom, filling the room with the soft, flickering light so that they could watch each other as they loved.
There was sweetness, slow, savoring sweetness. There was urgency, fevered, racing urgency. There was power and tenderness, demand and generosity.
Hour melted into hour, but they never drew apart. Each tremble, each sigh, each heartbeat would be remembered. The candles guttered out, but they were still wrapped together.
Then, though the words were never spoken, they knew it was the last time. His hands seemed that much more gentle, her lips that much softer.
When it was over, the beauty left her weak and weepy. In defense, she curled against him and prayed for sleep. She couldn’t bear to watch him go.
He lay still, wakeful until the first faint hints of light crept into the room. He was grateful she slept; he would never have been able to say goodbye. When he rose it hurt, a sharp, sweet ache that rocked him. Moving quickly, struggling to keep his mind blank, he pulled on the jumpsuit she’d set out for him.
Afraid of waking her, he touched only her hair, then moved quietly out of the room. Libby opened her eyes only when she heard the soft click of the cabin door. Turning her face into the pillow, she let the tears come.
***
The ship was secured, and the calculations were plotted. Cal sat on the bridge and watched night fade. It was important that he take off before sunrise. He had the timing down to a millisecond. There was little room for error. His life depended on it.
But his thoughts kept drifting back to Libby. Why hadn’t he known it would hurt this badly to leave? Yet he had to leave. His life, his time, weren’t here with hers. There was no use going over again what he had already agonized over a dozen times.
Still, he sat while precious moments clicked away.
Prepare for standard orbital flight.
“Yes,” he told the computer absently. Instruments began to hum. In a way that was second nature to him, Cal prepared for take off. He paused again, staring at the viewscreen.
All systems ready. Ignition at your discretion.
“Right. Commence countdown.”
Commencing. Ten, nine, eight, seven...
***
From the kitchen doorway, Libby heard the rumble. Impatient, she rubbed tears from her eyes and strained to see. There was a flash. She thought she caught a quick glint of metal streaking across the lightening sky. Then it was gone. The woods were quiet again.
She shivered. She wished she could convince herself it was because the air was chill and she was wearing only her short blue robe.
“Be safe,” she murmured. Then gave in and allowed herself the luxury of a few more tears.
Life went on, she lectured herself. The birds were beginning to sing. The sun was nearly up.
She wanted to die.
That was nonsense. Shaking herself, she set the kettle on to boil. She was going to have a cup of tea, wash the dishes they’d been too careless to notice the night before. Then she was going back to work.
She would work until she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and then she would sleep. She would get up again and work again until her dissertation was complete. It would be the best damn paper her colleagues had ever read. And then she’d travel.