I spend the next day giving the dusty, dirty house a scrubbing like it has seen in years, dusting, vacuuming, washing the old wallpaper, brushing out the toilet and so on.
To be honest, there isn't that much to do. I don't have much in this house, only a small pair of bookshelves to hold my books and DVDs, a modest TV, a couch, a chair or two, a battered dining table I got from the Salvation Army and the furnishings that were here when I moved in.
The truth is, I don't even need this two-story, as I only use the first floor. But it was on the market for cheap and nobody wanted to buy it because a woman was murdered in the upstairs bedroom about 15 years ago. Some people say it's haunted by her ghost and sometimes, late at night, I think I hear her moaning and wailing.
It scares me, but not enough to move.
I pass the night before Nick's due to arrive spending time with Little Nick, the whirr of him and my own moans and cries overpowering any spectral presence. My body grows warm and flushed, then hot before I tumble over the edge into an oblivion of pleasure and pain, crying out with my release as I imagine Nick taking me, loving me again as he did before. It's happy, but tinged with sorrow because it's not him in me and Little Nick can only be a weak substitute for the reality of him in me, on me as I once knew, his own groans echoing off the walls of my room in the sorority house.
He calls me when his plane lands and says he'll be there later that night. I wanted to meet him at the airport but he refused because Melody was with him, and... no, I don't want to think about that, so I won't.
I take a long, hot bath and dress in a clinging, sheer black silk robe as I wait for him to arrive. It's pretty, appropriate for mourning because of its color, but also stimulating I hope, because of its transparency. I want him to want me and so I go braless, letting my breasts be only partially concealed by the fabric.
The waiting after his call is unbearable, the minutes dragging insufferably by as I pace in the living room.
And then, finally, the doorbell rings.
I rush to open it and there he is.
He's grown more handsome than ever before. He's put on weight, but it looks like muscle, because even the loose-fitting white button-down shirt and the black, neatly pressed slacks can't hide how toned he's gotten.
He smiles at me with such sadness, such tenderness, that I can't stop myself.
As he's in the middle of saying hello, I rush forward, throw my arms about his neck and kiss him hard on the lips, thrilling to the smoky taste of his lips.
"Oh, Nick... I've missed you so much!"