His voice was like molten chocolate spilling over me and warming my skin, my muscles, my bones.
“You’re not?”
“I just meant there are lots of things we could do awake.”
He slipped a hand under my sweater and caressed my stomach, my ribs, climbed until he was just millimeters from my breasts. Then he moved downward, just with his fingertips, and every line they traced burned like fire. He was torturing me.
The ground shifted. What were we doing? Who were we? Where were we going? I still needed answers; I hadn’t learned to live without them. I turned and looked at him, and asked, “What is this?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You and me, what are we doing? Is it real? Does it have a name? Is it going somewhere? Is this just something that happened because we were on the island together? Will it vanish once we leave?”
He let go of me, and I felt so small in that moment. His face was grave, serious, as he responded.
“Look, I had no idea this was going to happen. But it is happening, and it’s real. It’s one hundred percent real. As to what we should call it or where it’s going…I can’t tell you that, Harper. I don’t think it even depends on me. I have other things to take care of, and until that’s done, I can’t think beyond the now.”
I felt a sharp pain in my chest as I asked, “Are you talking about someone else? Another girl?”
“No! I swear I’m not. You’re the only one, Pumpkin. I think you always have been.”
“Is it my brother, then? Because when he said what he said to you, that was a long time ago. He’s not going to do anything. I’m twenty-two years old, now, I’m an adult. You’re his best friend. He’ll probably be happy for us.” I was stumbling over my words.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t let your brother come between you and me.”
“Then tell me what’s going on, because I don’t understand. What things do you need to take care of?”
He bent over and kissed me, once, twice, three times. Soft little kisses, gentle, intimate. Then he leaned his forehead against mine.
“Nothing. Don’t worry. I just…I just want to do things right.”
“Me too.”
“I feel like we should try not to think too much, just let time pass and see what it brings us.”
I couldn’t reply when I saw how sincere he looked. I only had two options: end everything just then, end the torture, but also the joy—or accept whatever he was offering me.
Maybe there wasn’t a name for what we were sharing or a map to keep me from getting lost. But I chose. I chose to walk the tightrope, chose our kisses, chose our touch. Chose him.
For as long as it lasted.
For as long as neither of us walked away.
For as long as he needed to resolve his issues.
For as long as holding on to him hurt less than letting him go.
I opened my eyes slowly. My eyelids felt heavy. I saw Trey driving, one hand on the wheel, the other arm hanging out the window. The wind was ruffling his hair, and the rays of the setting sun were reflected in his glasses. I memorized his profile, every contour, every inch.
He turned and looked at me. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”
“I didn’t even realize I’d drifted off.”
He reached over and rubbed my bare leg. Trying to shake off my drowsiness, I saw a landscape I didn’t recognize.
“Where are we? I thought we were going back to Charlottetown to spend the night.”
“That was the plan,” he said with a mischievous grin, “but then I remembered there was something I wanted to show you.”
