As Jeremy crept into the bedroom, she didn't say “You should have made love to me when I needed you to,” because he wouldn't have understood. She couldn't say she understood, either. Ethan filled her mind now and wouldn't let her rest.

After Jeremy fell asleep, she snuck down to the basement.

The mother-of-pearl pillbox sat at the bottom of the storage box labeled “Box 19, College Notes.” The silver-dollar-size container had been in her possession, untouched since that day in her last semester, years ago. Nicole had never spoken to anyone of the green dust inside of it.

Now, she traced a shaking finger over the lid and felt a lick of heat between her legs. The excitement reminded her why she had crept down here while Jeremy slept, why she would risk it all so close to the wedding. She knew what she was contemplating was madness. But her desire made her feel lightheaded, daring.

She removed the lid. The dust, or the Runner, as Orenda used to call it, hadn't changed. It still had the just-scraped-from-the-forest-floor look. It still had the dank, yet appetizing smell. But she kept her nostrils and mouth well back. She had no intention of ingesting the powder. God knew what it would do to her. And neither did she want a sudden sneeze to disperse it. She had at most two applications. Maybe three, if she used it sparingly. She had to be careful.

The cold from the floor radiated up through her knees, making her feel like her bones were made of chilled steel. As she got to her feet, she remembered the day her dorm mate, Orenda, had given her some of her secret stash.

           “This Runner is good stuff, man. Reliable. Best love potion this side of the Mississippi. Course, not even the best love potion can work if the other person isn't open to it.”