He smiled at me, he kissed me, and he talked as if everything was normal, but it wasn’t. There was great sadness behind the smiles, in the kiss, and pulling on the edges of our conversations. I knew something was wrong, but because I didn’t even know where to begin and he was trying so hard to keep things level, I didn’t mention it. On the flight to L.A., I popped in headphones, opened my book and left Kyle to his thoughts. Every now and then he would touch me, stroke my cheek, squeeze my hand, caress my thigh, but even those actions seemed…sad. In L.A. we ate a leisurely late lunch and entertained each other with trivia from a book I picked up in a bookstore. Kyle laughed. Kyle teased me. Kyle turned me on. But Kyle wasn’t Kyle, and I couldn’t figure out why. Almost a whole damn day later we finally reached our bungalow over the water in Bora Bora. It was near dark, but I was able to see how beautiful it was. Exhausted, we showered together and fell into our bed that had a clear view of the sparkling sea.
