Sun's dipping low. That golden crap on the vines again. Makes you squint and think why the hell does it have to look so perfect when everything's shit.

I keep tugging my sundress hem. Heart's going like a bloody jackhammer. Fifty eight. Ten years since David. The anniversary slid past last month and I just let it. Door only opens for neighbours these days. Egg. Chat. Sugar. Loneliness sitting on me like that cardigan with the hole in the elbow. Itchy. Familiar. Tonight though it feels different. Like maybe I could peel it off and see what the air feels like on bare skin.

Marcus's ute crunches up the drive. He gets out with that grin, eyes crinkling from too many early mornings. Bottle under his arm. Gallagher Sparkling Shiraz. The one I mentioned once. He remembered. "Evening," he says and the hug lasts a beat too long. His hand on my back right over the old tattoo. Warm. Solid.

David's letters flash in my head. Ribbon still tied. Drawer still shut. Guilt hits like a stone in the gut. Doesn't fade. Just sits there while the vine smell drifts in earthy and thick and I breathe it anyway.

We pour the wine. My glass chipped from Timmy's cricket stunt. Bubbles sharp on the tongue. First sip and we just stand there a second. He asks about the new netting I put up last week. I tell him how the bloody birds still find a gap. He laughs low. Says his got shredded in the last storm and he spent three days patching it with whatever wire he had left.

Talk drifts to the drought again. How the soil's cracking like old skin. He tops up my glass without asking. Fingers brush the stem and I feel it. That tiny spark. I push it down. Ask about his divorce instead. He doesn't dodge. Just says the house got too quiet after she left. Vines were the only thing that didn't judge him for still getting up at dawn.

I hum Kookaburra under my breath. Stupid habit. David always buggered the words on purpose to make me laugh. Marcus hears it. Tilts his head. "He did the same?" I nod. Don't explain more. The silence after that stretches a bit. Not awkward. Thick.

Another sip. The bubbles keep popping. My thighs feel warm now. Not from the wine. From the way he's looking at me like he's got all night. I shift on the couch. Cross my legs. Uncross them. Guilt's still there but it's quieter. Like it's waiting.

He sets his glass down. Leans forward just a fraction. Tells me about the good grape sale last month. How it felt like the first win in years. I laugh. Say yeah I know that feeling.

His hand lands on my thigh. Not grabbing. Just there. Warm through the thin dress. Air changes.

I lean first. Noses bump. We laugh. Then the kiss. Deep. Messy. Wine and heat and that steady taste of him.

Pussy's already aching. Wet. But David's face is right there behind my eyes. Not gone. Sharper actually. Makes the want twist harder.

Bedroom? I say it shaky.

Hallway. Hip clips the frame same as always. Laughing. Bed's chaos. Outfits I tried on earlier everywhere. Sheets half off. He pulls the scarves from his pocket. Looks at me proper.

Only if you're sure.

That pause. Christ it lands. I nod. Tie me. Make me feel it.

Silk cool on my wrists. Dress off. Bra snags. Naked now. All the soft bits and scars showing. Breasts not where they used to be. Stretch marks from the kids. Ladder fall scar on my hip. He looks slow. Touches slower. Thumbs on my nipples. Pinching just right till I arch and the ache shoots straight down.

His mouth lower. Belly. Thighs wide. First lick and I make a sound I haven't heard in years. He takes his time. Learns me. Fingers curling. Dog barks outside at nothing.

Did I turn the stove off? Stupid thought. Then his tongue does that thing and the stove disappears but David doesn't. David by the river that time. Water rushing. His hand under my skirt. Whispering filthy promises while the kids played upstream. The memory slams in sideways. Hot and sharp. Makes me clench around Marcus's fingers harder.

Smack my arse? I say it half laughing. He does. Sweet sting hits right away. Again. Harder. Each one drags David closer and pushes the guilt deeper at the same time.

We fumble sixty nine. Elbows knocking. Giggling. His cock salty on my tongue. Thick. Real. My mouth full while his tongue doesn't let up. Bed creaking like it always has since his dad built it.

Then he's inside me. The stretch is slow and full and my eyes lock on his. Throat closes up tight. Guilt and everything else mixing and I don't know up from down but I don't want it to stop.

We roll to spooning. His arm heavy across me. Cock still there. Moving lazy and deep. It builds slow. Him and the guilt and the wine buzz all mixed together till it rolls over me long and quiet. Shuddering. I come with his name catching in my throat and David's face flashing again behind my lids.

He follows. Hot pulses inside. Breath ragged.

Unties me after. Quilt up. Holds me. Cum leaking warm down my thigh. Room smells of sex and night air and jasmine.

Dishes still in the sink. Cat probably tore the curtains again. David's photo on the mantel staring back at me. Guilt's still there. Won't shift. Too tired now anyway. Too full.

I trace the scar on his hand. He traces mine. Neither of us talks.

Window's open. Breeze coming in cool. I don't know what tomorrow looks like. Don't know if this was stupid or necessary or both.

Right now though I'm sticky and sated and the guilt's still sitting right here on my chest like it belongs. And I'm not reaching for the light just yet.