Last night, after our brief walk, Seth and I returned back to the house where we immediately parted ways with a whispered 'goodnight'. Though my mind was wired and desperate after our interesting conversation, I surprisingly found myself waking up at nine o'clock, which means I actually did get some sleep for once.

The room is empty when I peel my lids apart, but I stay horizontal, staring at the ceiling. I've debated Seth's actions many times before, and it wasn't until last night that something odd crossed my mind. He mentioned that he'd enjoyed it, right? That the kiss we shared was pleasant? Then why did he run?

The thoughts even followed me into my sleep where I kept having similar dreams. We'd be talking and suddenly his face would morph into a scowl and he'd desert me without any explanation. Or I'd lean in for a hug and he'd brush me off like some lame distraction.

The distance between us is gargantuan, but last night, something happened. We connected. In fact, I get this strange feeling that he truly does care for me. Maybe he's just forgotten how to show it. Could it be that we've both just grown so accustomed to our busy lifestyle that we've neglected the most important aspect of it?... our marriage.

It's a strange world we live in. Males and females are odd creatures. We think too much and act too little. If I could just let go of some of my thoughts and not let everything Seth does affect me, then life could be so much easier.

I smile to myself as I stretch my arms over my head and roll out from under my blankets. Seth had packed a few clothing items for me before making the drive out here, so I snatch a sweater from it and zip it up. I'm too lazy to put on a bra at the moment, so this will have to do. I then trudge my way down the hall and into the kitchen. The scent of breakfast nearly smacks me in the face—it's either that powerful or I'm just that hungry.

I find Seth and my mom bustling around the kitchen, frying up eggs and bacon and setting a pot of coffee to brew. Mumbling a 'good morning', I get busy snooping through the cabinets for teabags. There's gotta be at least one, right? But nope. Nothing. Jackson's cabinets are about as bare as Aunt Gracie's butt that one time she forgot her pants. Memory loss is a monster, but I have to admit, recalling that moment does put a horrified smile on my face. I'm just glad I only saw her from behind—literally.

"Sleep well?" my mom asks, watching as I pour steaming water into a mug.

"Nope," I tell her honestly and without any hesitation.

She stops whisking eggs and glances over her shoulder at me. "That's what Seth said, too." She turns back to her task and skillfully dumps the eggs into a sizzling skillet. "Probably because you didn't have each other to snuggle with."

She laughs at her own awkward assumption, but Seth and I barely react. I glance up, surprised to find his eyes on me, and we share a look of near panic. Apparently, she doesn't suspect anything being wrong between us.

For a moment, I wonder if the look on Seth's face is surprise. Did he expect my mom to already know the details of our private lives? Did he think I had already spilled my weepy heart all over her strong shoulders?

I offer him a tight smile before slicing open a lime and squeezing it into my steaming cup.

"Maybe," I say, hoping that my simple response will kill the conversation.

Thankfully, it works, and we all finish our tasks in silence. After stirring a couple of spoonfuls of honey into my lime water, I blow some of the steam away and take a hesitant sip. Perfection! I'm suddenly grateful that Jackson didn't have any tea in the house. This was exactly what I needed. I can almost feel the lime sizzling through my body and detoxifying it of all stress. I close my eyes and take another drink.

"Would you two mind setting the table?" my mom asks.

Before I can even shoot Seth an awkward smile, he's already mumbled a 'sure' and is headed that way. I follow close behind, my drink abandoned on the counter. I watch Seth pull plates from the cupboard and my breath catches when he turns to hand them to me and his fingers brush my own. His eyes spear themselves to mine and for a moment neither of us moves. We hesitate, frozen in time, and then he clears his throat and the moment is broken.

I round the table, placing dishes evenly apart as I walk. Seth joins me a few seconds later, silverware in hand. He starts trailing behind me, setting the utensils next to each plate. I've just snatched up four glasses when Seth's voice stops me in place.

"Can we talk?"

I glance backward and find him resting his hands against the tabletop, his gaze pointed down at the center of the table. I return to the table and begin placing cups down in slow motion.

"About what?" I can't help but ask.

He laughs, and though I can hear the humor in it, I don't think he actually finds the question to be funny.

"What isn't there to talk about?" His eyes find mine, but he remains leaned over the table, palms flat against the surface. "Mercy, I think it's time that we're honest with each other. Don't tell me that this hasn't been driving you crazy, because I'm going mad."

My heart rate accelerates and I'm not at all prepared for this moment. It's horrible timing. Could he not have waited until we had more privacy before confessing his ugly secrets? Why couldn't he have just mentioned it during our walk?

I glance around quickly, noting that we're mostly alone—aside from my mother puttering around in the kitchen a few feet away. I doubt she's paying any attention to us though. She tends to get absorbed in her cooking, and I'm very much hoping that's the case right now.

I nod once at Seth before muttering an 'okay'.

He sighs and I watch him cross his arms over his chest. His eyes flutter to the floor as he debates his words, and once he's formed his thoughts he glances back up.

"First off," he starts to say, "I've got a lot of things I need to get off my chest. Things that I'm not proud of keeping from you."

My chest constricts, images of divorce papers dancing behind my eyes. I can see he's about to spill his heart to me, and though I'm half dying to hear every word and half dreading them, now just isn't the right time. My eyes scan our surroundings and then I lean in, my voice quiet.

"Are you sure this is the best time for this?" I ask, glancing around again. "I mean, I want this, but can it wait until later?"

His face visibly falls. He must have been working up the courage to confess his regrets all night, and here I am shutting him down before he can even get started. I see his shoulders tense and his eyes flicker around us, taking in the fact that we're not really alone, and then he nods.

"Sure."

I feel horrible. I'd give anything to listen to him, but I couldn't risk the possibility of my mom overhearing or Jackson barging through the door at that moment. This needed to wait until we could both sit down and fully process what's been going on between us for the past five months.

I smile up at Seth, and when he smiles back I get the feeling that we're okay until he turns and walks away, leaving me alone. I don't think he was expecting me to turn him down. And though I hate that I did, I had to do it.

Jackson enters the house a moment later—after finishing his morning chores—and we delve into eating a simple breakfast together. Once we've cleaned up the place, we bid the man farewell and mom and I follow Seth to his truck. We all hop inside and make the five-minute drive to my mom's car.

I stare blankly out the front window, my thoughts elsewhere as Seth and my mom chatter. This short little stay has taught me many things. Most importantly, I think I've learned that a busy schedule can sometimes overcloud relationships. I've been feeling that heavy weight between Seth and me for a while, and I'm playing with the idea of testing out my simplicity theory. I think technology could be to blame for many failed relationships and I refuse to let it be the cause of ours.

A few minutes later, I watch Seth as he lifts a gas can from the backend of his truck and uncaps it. He makes quick work of filling my mom's convertible, and then sets the can back into the bed of his truck.

There's just something enticing about a man with dirt under his nails and gasoline on his fingers. Not that Seth has either of those things right now, but watching him fill my mom's tank is pretty close to watching those fantasies come to life. He's wearing casual clothes today—faded jeans and a black fitted t-shirt—the kind of clothes that he's allowed to get dirty.

It's been a while since Seth has had to use his handyman skills, but let me tell ya, when he does, it's attractive. Maybe I should damage a few water pipes or purposely overheat my car—if that's possible—just so I can drool while he tinkers.

I mentally lock these ideas away for later retrieval.

"You two still coming over for dinner tonight?" my mom asks as she fishes her keys from her purse.

I'd informed her this morning that I'd already invited Seth, and the smile on her naturally pale face was like watching the face of a baby as he smears poop across his mother's precious walls: pure joy. I'm pretty sure the only way she'd be more excited about tonight is if I told her I was bringing Denzel Washington with me. I'm positive she loves him more than her family, and yet, my dad seems perfectly okay with that. Probably because he harbors some kind of man-crush on the guy too. Who knows.

"Yep," I respond, moving towards the passenger side of her car. I barely get two steps before warm fingers are wrapping around my own and tugging me back towards a firm chest.

"We'll be by around six," Seth tells my mom, his breath hot against my ear.

I'm frozen in place, relishing the feel of my husband's hand gripping my own. His fingers are strong, capable. I can feel his callouses grazing my own. I know I'm supposed to have dainty, feather-soft hands, but my job makes that impossible... and Seth has never complained. His callouses stem from rigorous hours in the gym, mine stem from hours sanding down wood. Simply put, his rough hands are sexy, mine are tolerable.

"Okay," she says, looking at us through the windshield with a smile. "Be safe you two." And then she's shutting her car door and firing up her engine.

Seth and I stand watching her leave. As soon as she's far enough away, Seth releases my hand and makes his way to his truck. I clench my fingers into a fist, already missing the feel of him. I don't dwell on the loss too much, but instead, hurry to catch up to his retreating form.

Conversation is stilted during the drive home. Instead of stopping for lunch, we swing by a fast food joint and order from the drive-thru. Seth used to detest driving and eating. He hated not being able to fully enjoy his meal when he had to focus on keeping his vehicle on the road. Apparently, he no longer felt that way... not when I was his passenger anyway.

I quickly finish my burger and fries, wadding the wrappers up and throwing them into the brown sack they came in. Since Seth's busy navigating through an unfamiliar town, he hasn't had much of an opportunity to eat. His burger sits half-eaten on his lap while he holds his phone in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. I would offer to help, but I already know he'd refuse. He doesn't trust my ability with directions—for good reason. My parents used to live twenty minutes from our house and it took me two months to figure out how to get to their new place after they moved. Remember, they literally moved two blocks over.

"You hot?" Seth's voice breaks me from my thoughts and I turn away from my rolled-down window to face him. The phone he was using to navigate us home is now sitting on the dashboard.

"Not really," I say, the wind swishing my ponytail around my face. "You can turn on the air if you are though."

He just shrugs and returns to tapping out the beat to his own imaginative song on the steering wheel.

"How's work?" he asks a few minutes later.

"Good," I tell him, pulling one leg up onto the seat and tucking my ankle under my opposite thigh. "Been working on a pretty big project."

"I noticed," he says, not diverting his gaze from the road ahead. "What're you making?"

"Some desks. They're turning out really well, but they're keeping me extremely busy."

"Mh Hmm." The truck goes quiet for a while and I wonder what's running through his head. I don't bother asking. When, and if, he wants to tell me, then he will.

"So," I say a moment later. "I was thinking about your birthday coming up next month." I peek over to see a look of surprise on Seth's face. Clearly, he wasn't expecting me to bring up the topic of his birthday. That, or he wasn't expecting me to remember it at all. "I was thinking about doing something different this year."

"Oh yeah?" His brow quirks up with the question, and I can see I've both worried and enticed him.

"Yeah," I respond with a small shrug. "I'm hoping it can be somewhat of a surprise though, but I figured I'd tell you so you could keep that weekend free."

"Uh..." He scratches the edge of his jaw as his eyes shift from the road to me, and back again. "Yeah, okay."

A confused smile spreads across his lips and for a moment I think he might actually be excited—though he's doing a rather fantastic job of hiding it. I smile in return and glance back out my window. Nothing else of the topic is discussed, and the car grows quiet again, but I feel a trickle of hope slither into my bones. I'm on the verge of throwing my torso out the window and belting joyously into the wind, but I refrain.

My mind keeps backtracking to earlier this morning when Seth wanted to talk. I keep getting this horrible feeling in my gut when I imagine what he needed to tell me. I've had my assumptions about him, but no evidence to prove unfaithfulness. To have him verbally confess how he feels or what he's done has me physically sick.

Multiple times on the drive home, I've nearly blurted out that I'm ready to talk, but every time the words don't come out. Ignorance is bliss, right? I've survived this long pretending that everything's okay. Why ruin it now?

My phone begins to chime, startling my thoughts to a standstill. I glance at the caller ID and sigh. I can't exactly ignore it, so I hit send and add some cheer to my voice.

"Hey, Adam," I say, pulling the ends of my flyaway ponytail over one shoulder. "What's up?"

He then proceeds to ask about my progress on the tables and then presents to me another job he wants done. I'd been hoping for a quick conversation, but he just keeps rattling on and on. For some reason, he feels the need to give me each detail of his new idea for a set of chairs to go with the tables I'm already making. It's all pointless really because he's going to have to sketch it up and go over it with me in person anyway. I try not to reveal my irritation to him, but I can't keep my fingers from tapping an angry rhythm against my pant leg.

He finally shuts up, and an hour later, we pull up in front of our house and Seth is out of the car before I can say 'Home sweet home.' Exhausted, I trudge my way to the back room and throw myself across the comforter. I've got three hours to kill, and then Seth and I will be heading to my parents' house together.

I'm equally excited and nauseous. Since our relationship decline, we've had very few dinners with friends or family, so tonight will definitely be a new experience. Our last public meal was about three months ago, and things weren't quite as tense between us as they are now. Tonight will definitely be interesting.

Let's see if we can pull off being the 'still madly in love' married couple.