On the inland side, you can see downtown and the city stretched beyond. In the distance, thousands of people go about their normal Thursday afternoons—sending emails, picking kids up from school, secretly hating their bosses but laughing at their dumb jokes. Farther up the coast, the looming hotel towers that line the Virginia Beach boardwalk jut skyward. To the south rests the lush natural area protecting Wilks Beach from the rest of civilization.
I return to the part of the landing with the door, noting that Trevor hasn’t moved. It almost looks like his tense shoulders are holding the top of the lighthouse in place. Atlas with a lantern room on his back.
“I’m almost done,” I tell him, sliding my phone from my back pocket. “I’m just going to take some pictures to send to Mom and Dad.”
Trevor nods at his sneakers.
I snap a few quick pictures, leaning over the railing to get more of the beach beyond the dunes at the base of the lighthouse. I’m almost done when the trusty soles of my Converse slip from under me, and my ribs slam against the railing, knocking the wind out of me. If hitting the railing hadn’t been jarringenough, I’m immediately dragged backward. I barely have the wherewithal to fist my phone so it doesn’t go tumbling over the edge.
In a dizzying swoop, I’m pushed against the brick of the lighthouse, Trevor’s body barricading me in. His palms flatten on either side of my head, his gaze frantic as it rakes over my body. Trevor’s heaving exhales puff against my skin as he continues his visual inspection. He’s so close I can feel the anxious energy vibrating from his tense muscles.
Not to be outdone, the adrenaline surging through my body threatens to fry my nerve endings. Some higher-functioning part of my brain already knows that since my center of gravity had been below the railing, the likelihood of me going over had been slim-to-none. But the animalistic part of my brain thatreally enjoysbeing alive is convinced that it was a close call.
“I’m okay,” I say to myself but also to reassure Trevor, who looks like his brain is conjuring worst-case scenarios, even though the lighthouse brick is now cooling my back.
“You’re okay,” Trevor echoes, his gaze uncertain.
“Really.” I lift my eyebrows.
Trevor takes another deep inhale, his chest almost brushing mine, and slowly begins to nod.
My lips twitch upward slightly, aiming for encouraging, but tremble slightly at the corners.
It was terrifying to slip like that, to consider the possibility of falling from this height. I’d be done for, that much is certain. There’s no possibility of recovering from a fall like that.
An almost maniacal laugh tumbles from my mouth.
Trevor frowns, his forehead bunching. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because theone itemon myDo It Scaredlist thatwasn’tsupposed to be daunting ended up scaring us both.”
I see the crack in his stern expression like pinholes of sunlight through a thick curtain. First at the corner of his left eye, then the cupid’s bow of his full lips, and finally the loosening of his jaw. When Trevor drops his forehead to the wall behind me with a body-shaking guffaw, nervous giggles tickle up my throat like champagne bubbles. We let the moment take over for a while, cackling like my life hadn’t just flashed before my eyes.
Then Trevor lets out a noisy sigh, smiling down at me. I tilt my chin up, mirroring his expression. Immediately, the moment transforms into something else as the air pressure changes. I’m suddenly very aware of his proximity, but not in a grateful, thank-you-for-saving-me kind of way. Trevor drifts closer, the heat of him blocking out the sea breeze. There’s a subtle shift as his breath catches in his throat. His gaze dips to my lips and stalls.
Clarity slaps my temple like a whip crack.
Trevor Chapman, catcher for the Virginia Beach Waves, Gold Glove Award Winner, tender cat dad, my roommate, and theman I jokingly refer to as myolder brother…is thinking about kissing me.
Or at least there’s an 87.6% chance that’s what he’s thinking. What else would cause Trevor to tuck his bottom lip between his teeth like that? Maybe I have a hot chocolate mustache? Yeah, that’s probably—
“Kenz…”
My name is a sandpaper scrape I feel down to the soles of my feet. He’s never shortened my name before or said it with such unbidden longing that warmth spreads low in my belly. My brain is a jumbled mess, but my body could be convinced to push away from the stone wall into something new.
Do I want that?
Am I even ready for it?
Stampeding feet bound up the staircase, bringing the sound of children’s voices. Trevor steps back two seconds before eleven-year-old twin boys punch through the open doorway. The raucous pair unintentionally save me from making a potentially disastrous mistake.
What if I’d read the situation wrong? I thought Aaron had been in love with me, and clearly, I’d been mistaken about that. Pain slips over my shoulder and wracks down my back, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut.
“Good gracious, that’s a lot of stairs.” An exhausted mother spills into the doorway. “I need to do more cardio.”
“You and me both.” I offer a commiserating smile before I eye the boys. “Be careful around the railing. It’s slippery in spots.”
“Oh, good to know.” She steps forward to take each of her sons by the hand. “Stay close you two,” she tells them before glancing back at me. “Thanks for the warning.”
