The yellow paint on the walls of the kitchen seemed faded, dimmer. Sweat was building on my brow as I finished washing the dishes.

As I was drying my hands on my apron, I caught Rowan’s eyes through the window above the kitchen sink of our cottage. My eyes traveled down past his full lips to the sway of his hips. He approached confidently, with strong measured strides. His steps faltered for jus...