A week had passed since James had last seen Poppy and the time shared had remained now within his memory. Her skin, as soft as silk, called to him from afar, her kisses, passionate yet playful and reserved had remained on his lips, and her scent existed mixed upon his own. All of these details had been ones that he had kept from his wife, a woman whose self assurance began to decline each night her husband was elsewhere. Even if she could not find proof of his infidelity, she began to suspect he was unfaithful by the scent of another woman present upon his body and the sight of grass stains upon his already wrinkled and disheveled clothing. And yet, she appeared disinterested in bringing it up as she feared she would lose him if he were to become aware of her knowing this. Because of this,
