Meg after dinner.

No matter how aroused Meg felt, and she was more aroused than she could ever remember being, there was no way she could countenance being unfaithful to Jim without first having a conversation with him. Eighteen years of a happy, steady marriage deserved at least that much.

After the girls’ wonderful reunion dinner, Meg made her way unsteadily back to her chalet. The cocktails had turned the previously level pathway into a treacherous rope bridge that threatened to undo her footing with every step.

Inside the chalet, Meg headed straight for the bathroom. She used a moist towelette to wipe away the lingering dampness from her thighs before draping a loose shawl over her shoulders. Only then did she rummage through her handbag for her phone. There were no missed calls.

She stepped out onto the balcony outside her chalet. The wind was picking up, and she was glad of the extra layer. Meg placed her call and was happy when Jim picked up. Her husband sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her, but also distracted at the same time. They spoke initially about the flights Meg had taken, then how each of her friends was in turn. The conversation drifted for another minute before Meg realised she wasn't really listening anymore. She hadn't called to discuss flights or cocktails.

When Meg awkwardly asked, "Have we ever actually talked about... what counts as cheating?" Jim laughed nervously.

"Where's this coming from?"

She explained that everyone she was with had different arrangements with their partners, and it had made her realise they'd never really had that conversation.

Jim paused. "We've always trusted each other, Meg."

"That's not an answer."

Before he could elaborate further, A woman's laugh drifted through the phone from somewhere close to Jim. Not loudly, but close enough that Meg noticed. The fine ginger hairs on the back of Meg's neck prickled.

She asked, "Jim, who's that?"

He hesitated for just a beat too long.

"Just... someone's here."

When Meg pressed him about their boundaries, he became evasive. "Do we have to figure this out over the phone while you're on vacation? Let's talk when you get home. I don't want either of us making rules because we're feeling... whatever we're feeling right now."

To say it took the wind out of Meg’s sails was an understatement. She didn't even try to argue when Jim brought the call to an awkward close. The line went dead. Meg lowered the phone slowly and stared out into the darkness beyond the balcony.

Dejected, Meg stepped back inside. She paced the length of the chalet twice before tucking her elbows inside her shawl and heading back toward the main resort.

Meg's feet carried her well away from the restaurant where she and her friends had eaten, taking her toward the quieter end of the resort where she was less likely to run into anyone she knew. The resort was quieter now. Night had fallen completely, and only burning reed torches lit her way. Down by the water, she noticed one of the attendants hauling the final jet ski farther up the sand before the tide came in.

"Need a hand?" she called.

He looked up, recognised her, and smiled. "I remember you. The lady who chose the tandem ride."

"That obvious?"

"You looked like someone trying to decide whether to be brave."

Meg laughed despite herself. "I still am."

"Of course." He brushed a damp hand on his shorts before remembering he wasn't wearing any, then laughed at himself. "I'm Luc, by the way. I realised this afternoon I never introduced myself."

Meg introduced herself, and together they steadied the heavy craft while he guided it to rest next to the others. The simple physical task gave them something to do besides talk, and the silence felt easier than the one she'd just left on the telephone.

When they finished, he thanked her and asked if everything was all right. Meg hesitated before admitting she'd just had a difficult conversation with her husband. Rather than prying, Luc patted the seat of the sea craft for Meg to sit down as he finished tying it down for the night.

Luc waited until the straps were tight before sitting beside her on the cool seat of the jet ski.

"People think a vacation leaves their problems behind,” he said quietly. “Most find they packed their problems into the suitcase."

Meg looked out across the dark water. "Does it work out for them?"

Luc smiled. "Sometimes. Usually because they stopped running long enough to decide what they actually wanted."

Meg hadn't expected that answer from a man she'd met giving jet ski instructions that afternoon. The silence lingered. Almost absent-mindedly, Luc rested his hand on the seat between them, close enough that the backs of their fingers nearly touched. “So... what do you think you're going to do?"

Meg looked down at Luc’s tanned and weathered wrist. A shadow of darkness compared to her own almost luminous skin. What did she want to do, she thought?

Her eye moved from his hand and over toward his naked groin underneath his safety jacket. As they’d been talking, Luc’s penis had swollen until it was just as hard and erect as he’d been out in the breakers that day. Meg came up with her answer.

“Be braver,” she told Luc.