She sighs into his mouth, wishing they could continue here, a fantasy of him lifting her onto the high vanity and wrapping her legs around his waist playing out in her head. “I love you, Lizzie,” he tells her finally, the words desperately escaping his grasp. He walks past her, dropping his room key and wallet on the table. Dembe wouldn’t even know where they had gone until it was too late. How can he tell her, what can he possibly say? His tailored black vest is torn, pressed, white shirt grimy with dirt and sweat and blood. For their last night in Costa Rica, Red surprises her with a tray of chocolate confections from a local bakery and they spend the evening in bed. She rises gracefully from her chair, moving around the table to stand in front of Red’s chair. Her tongue slides along him, flicking across his tiny scar; a reminder of the moment when he fell in love with her. “Red?” she asks tentatively.
