He would have rather had four hours on a plane with two hyper children than two hours with Bach—or whoever it was who’d be assaulting his ears tonight. He jogged up the stairs, intent on grabbing a quick shower to rinse off the dirt and sweat from the base-jumping expedition. He heard splashing coming from the direction of the pool. It sounded like the kids were enjoying the house, at least. He’d wanted more time with them than just a thirty-six hour layover, but the producers had talked him out of keeping the kids longer. It was a simple matter to take a first-grader out of school for a week or two, but even if TJ and Emma were here, he wouldn’t be. A wine tasting in Napa, a ski weekend in Aspen—the destination dates only got more elaborate as the weeks wore on and even though there were fewer women, his time would be less and less his own. He couldn’t complain. This was exactly what he’d signed up for. He just hadn’t realized how much of a homebody he’d become over the last four years.
