one was headier, richer, more vivid than the first, and she gloried in the sheer, wild rightness of it. This was what she wanted, this was what she’d never experienced with anyone until now. Until J.D.
This, this was real—
Or so she’d believed at the time, Kirsten reminded herself as she turned to gaze out the airplane window at an endless bank of white.
She knew better now.
She’d known better for eight years, and it no longer mattered. All that mattered now was her children.
She held that thought like a talisman for the rest of the flight and felt a vague sense of relief when they landed in Seattle. For the last hour she’d avoided any recollections of that summer with J.D. Ryder, any memories of those old, mistaken feelings…and what she could manage for an hour, she could manage for a day. Or even two.
But please, God, don’t let it take that long.
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