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regain his shattered composure. Never before had a single kiss given him so much pleasure or aroused him so completely. “Sorry,” he called to the seniors walking hand in hand.
    “Don’t be.” The woman shot them a knowing look. “You youngsters enjoy the night and that gorgeous full moon. Don’t let this old man stop you. He’s certainly stolen his fair share of kisses on one cruise ship’s promenade deck or another over the years. You see, cruises and romance go together like peanut butter and jelly.”
    “Like crackers and cheese,” her husband added. “Just might steal another kiss right now,” the man said, catching his wife around the waist. “You open to a bit of advice, sonny?” he asked, winking at Jason. “If you want to keep things spiced up in your love life, just take that pretty lady of yours on a cruise at least once a year.”
    “Sound advice, and I’ll certainly take it to heart.” Jason saluted the couple and turned back to Marin. “Sorry about that.”
    “Don’t be. They were sweet.”
    Once again he threaded his fingers through hers, liking the way her skin felt against his. Loving that she didn’t pull away. “Shall we walk some more?”
    “Definitely.”
    “Do I get another kiss when I walk you to your door?”
    “Maybe.”

#
    Marin took her place in the semicircle around their guide. Jason hooked his little finger with hers, and a ridiculously giddy thrill tingled all the way through her.
    Conway, their tour guide, held up a small yellow fruit with a dark brown apostrophe jutting out from the top. “Who can tell me what this is?”
    “A cashew,” someone in their group called out.
    “That’s right, and did you know that if you bit into this nut as it is now, your lips would blister?” Conway pointed to the cashew-shaped nut on the top. “We burn off the outer shell, and even then we must wear gloves to handle the nut if we don’t want our hands blistered.” He went on to describe the complicated method used to harvest the cashews. “Harvesting cashews is labor intensive, and that’s why they’re so expensive. You may have noticed the table out front as you entered the sanctuary. A few of our locals are selling cashew wine here today.”
    Marin shared a surprised glance with Jason. She’d never heard of cashew wine before. It might be something worth trying.
    “It’s very sweet,” Conway continued, “and it continues to ferment after you drink it. That’s why if you get a little buzz from it today, you’ll get another one the day after. It’s a two-for-one kind of wine.”
    Their guide led them down a path into the jungle. “The family of howler monkeys we’re going to see today are not in a zoo. There are no fences holding them in here. We’re in their natural habitat, a corridor that landowners in Belize volunteered to leave alone so the monkeys have a place to flourish.”
    Conway motioned toward a loose mound of sandy soil teaming with tiny red ants. “Be careful not to step into one of those. They’re fire ants, and they sting.” He continued to point out items of interest along the way, including termite nests and fruit-bearing trees used for food and medicines by the locals.
    Marin reveled in the jungle surroundings and held her camera at the ready, hanging on every word and taking it all in.
    The group followed Conway along the jungle path, and when they came around a bend, he pointed out a troop of black howler monkeys in the treetops ahead. Conway walked to the base of one of the trees and clapped. The dominant male howler let loose with an ear-shattering barking howl.
    “There’s a new baby just born a couple of days ago,” the guide said, pointing to the mother. “You might be able to see him, but he won’t leave his mother at this age. Howlers rarely touch the ground, but the younger ones will come closer to have a look at you.”
    As if on cue, a small male climbed down to a low branch, as curious about them as they were about him.