It’s a little gift, just for me. And I’ll never, ever forget it.
26
Twyla
The first thing I notice when I wake up is how much my body hurts. A good pain. A stretch out the kinks (ha!) and take a long hot shower and maybe do the whole thing all over again pain. Between my legs, on my ass, in my calves, which I really don’t understand.
The second thing I notice is that I’m alone.
All of my happy, stretchy, enjoying the ache energy disappears and I’m up, untangling myself from the top sheet, and out of bed in five seconds flat.
Wrapping the sheet around me, I race to the bathroom, this time managing to ignore my reflection entirely, clean up as best I can, and then return to the main room and hesitate.
Is Zion outside, through those French doors, maybe?
It’s late. I can tell from the bright, hot sun slanting through the window. Outside, someone shouts a heads-up, people squeal as I’m guessing a ball lands in their vicinity. It sounds like a full-fledged company picnic happening outside and, though I know I won’t be judged, I can’t stand the idea of leaving in last night’s clothes, which are currently balled up by my feet.
I need something to put on.
I spin, eye the bed again and realize that the top sheet I’m wearing—the sheet Zion spread over me while I slept—is my only choice. A toga it is. Once I’m draped to my satisfaction, I peek out the French doors at a tree-shaded porch, overlooking nothing but forest. It’s beautiful, I recognize, though the fact that Zion’s not out there waiting for me has something balling up in the pit of my stomach.
It was too much last night. Too soon.
Or maybe not soon. Maybe just not meant to be more. That’s what he’s telling me, right? By leaving? An easy goodbye. He’s changed his mind after our conversation.
And it was heavy. Everything we shared was pretty major.
I need to get out of here, get back to Lamé’s and regroup. Maybe I’ll…I don’t know. Leave? I mean, I love camp and I love Zion and I…
Shit. No. No, I can’t do that right now. Not when I’m feeling sore and weak and somehow almost hungover from everything we did and said to each other.
Running from something now, I yank open the front door and rush out into the unbearably hot, bright day.
Immediately, I get smiles, of the knowing, commiserating kind. I get a few thumbs up, too. Some surprised looks, which, coming from the man wearing a literal cage over his testicles, is almost odd. Whatever. Holding my head up, I march on.
The smell of chlorine hits me and, right behind it, the sweet pull of fresh coffee and, rather than race back to Lamé’s cottage and hide, the way I’d planned, I think maybe that’s the key to everything. Caffeine will make it better. I let the scent draw me to the coffee shop, where I pull open the door, and slam right into a big, hot body.
“Whoa, whoa, there baby. Hold on, sweetheart.” It’s Zion. Of course it is. He shuffles whatever’s filling his arms to one side and puts his other hand on my waist. “Twyla, baby.” He leans in and puts his nose to the crook of my neck and, I’m pretty sure, smells me, before placing a gentle kiss right there.
When he pulls back, I’m stunned speechless. “Um…” I squint up into his face and let myself look at all that glorious, golden skin before tearing my gaze away. It’s not easy. He’s in nothing but those board shorts and flipflops and, despite having been up against it all just last night—who am I kidding? This morning—his chest looks somehow better, wider, with that perfect, shimmering sprinkle of hair over muscle-packed skin. His thighs scissor with impatience—my god, were they always this thick or did he put on mass for that upcoming movie he’s supposed to start on in September? I swallow and force my eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I probably stayed in your cabin too long and you needed space and I was there and you—”
“Got us coffee. Breakfast.” He holds out a greasy, brown paper bag and whatever’s inside smells so heavenly, my stomach growls, which puts a lopsided grin on Zion’s face, bringing out those deadly dimples and… Where was I going again? Where am I? What’s my name?
This big, sweet, beautiful man was getting me breakfast?
Affection and, yes, love, god, love, I can admit it, rushes me so hard and fast that it’s like a pain and a weight lifted and, despite the stuff in his hands, I wrap my arms around him in the biggest, most heartfelt hug I’ve ever given.
“Oh, hey. Hey, baby. What’s this for?”
I step back, shoving all this excessive emotion as far aside as I can, because this is a man who doesn’t kiss, for god’s sake, how will he react to getting attack-hugged at whatever time it is in the morning.
“You good?” He watches me closely, his eyes warm and sweet.
I nod just as behind me, the door opens. He glances up then looks back to me.
