She laughs. “That’s not really scary if you come voluntarily.”
“It would be a dream come true.”
She stares at me for a beat too long, then returns her attention to the road. But I see the flush spreading down her neck, the way her pulse jumps at her throat. She’s affected. Good.
We turn off the main road onto something smaller, rougher. The town falls away behind us, replaced by rolling fields and distant mountains. It’s beautiful out here, the kind of wild, open landscape that reminds me of home in my younger years. Of the years before I lost my mom in an accident, when life was simple and the future felt infinite.
I don’t think about that time much anymore. Too painful. But something about this place, this town, this woman… it makes me want to remember.
The road narrows into a path, trees closing in on either side, and June finally rolls up the windows. She parks in a small clearing and kills the engine, and the silence that follows is almost startling.
“Oh, you’re going to love this,” she says, and her excitement is contagious. “Come on.”
She climbs out of the car, and I follow, watching her move. The red dress hugs her curves in ways that leave me drooling. The belt at her waist accentuates the dip before her hips flare out. Her legs in those cowboy boots go on forever, and when she walks ahead of me, I can’t stop staring at the sway of her ass.
Focus, Seth. Eyes forward. Think pure thoughts.
That’s impossible when she’s bouncing through the trees like a kid on Christmas morning, glancing back to make sure I’m following, her whole face lit up with anticipation.
We push through a final cluster of branches, and I stop.
A waterfall cascades down a rocky cliff face, maybe thirty feet high, feeding into a crystal-clear pool that mirrors the sky. Moss-covered boulders line the edges, and yellow and white flowers push up through the rocks. The sun catches the mist, throwing tiny rainbows into the air.
It’s stunning.
“I found this place a few years ago,” June says, moving toward the water’s edge. “When my parents first started pushing me to move to Dallas. I was so frustrated, so angry, and I just drove until I ran out of road.” She gestures at the waterfall. “This was waiting at the end.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Right?” She turns to face me, and her smile is radiant. “I come here when things get overwhelming. The sound of thewater, the isolation… it helps me think. Or not think. Depending on what I need.”
She’s talking with her hands, gesturing enthusiastically, and I realize I could watch her like this forever. The way she moves, the passion in her voice, the pure, unguarded joy on her face.
“Do you like waterfalls?” she asks.
I’ve never really thought about it before. They were just… there. Background scenery in nature documentaries. But watching June right now, the way the light bounces from her hair, how her eyes sparkle with excitement, and the fact that she’s sharing something precious with me—I decide at that moment that waterfalls are my favorite thing in the entire world.
They’ll always remind me of her. Of this. Of watching her come alive in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “I like waterfalls.”
She beams at me, and something in my chest cracks open.
We walk along a worn path near the water, the sound of the falls filling the silence between us. She’s telling me about the different seasons, how the pool is warm enough to swim in during summer, how the trees turn gold and red in autumn, how she’s never actually come here in winter before.
I’m only half listening. Most of my attention is on the way she moves. The curve of her neck. The occasional glimpse of cleavage when she turns a certain way.
I want her in a way that’s primal and consuming and completely beyond my control.
She’s mid-sentence when her boot catches on a root, and she stumbles forward with a surprised yelp.
I move without thinking. My arm hooks around her waist, catching her, pulling her back against me. But the momentum carries us both sideways, and suddenly I’m pressing her againsta tree, my body pinning hers, her back against rough bark and her front against me.
She’s breathing hard. So am I.
“You okay?” I ask, but I don’t step back.
“Yeah.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Thanks.”
