I should be thinking about tomorrow. About responsibilities. About going home.
Instead, I find myself hoping the night keeps giving us excuses.
“I get it.”
Colson looks at me as I say, “Get what?”
“Why you love this place.”
His expression softens like it was something he didn’t expect to notice. “The lake is hard to beat. Like, the sound of the waves. Having it right there? A dream.” He gestures to the water.
I glance at him, catching the faint pink still clinging to his cheeks, the way his mouth curves when he listens. We go to cross the street and I’m not paying enough attention, the curb coming up faster than I expect. I stumble, barely, but enough to break my stride.
Colson catches me without hesitation. His hand wraps around mine, warm and sure, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he never even considered not doing it.
“You good?” he asks, steadying me.
“Yeah,” I reply, even though my pulse is suddenly everywhere. “I’m good.”
But he doesn’t let go right away.
His thumb presses lightly at the inside of my wrist, grounding, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. I can feel the calluses there, the strength he keeps contained, the way his grip is careful instead of tight.
My body feels the sparks. The weight of his hand, the quiet claim of it, the way the world narrows down to this small point of contact. Us on the street, unmoving as people carry on around us.
When he finally releases me, it’s hard to hide the disappointment.
I step forward anyway, hoping he didn’t notice the way I slow, like I might intentionally stumble again if it means he’ll reach for me once more.
The sandwich shop is only a few steps away and I’m immediately grateful for their summer hours.
“Any requests?” I ask as I have one hand on the door.
Colson smiles, shrugging, “No. Whatever you like is good.”
Part of me wants to tell him that I’d prefer him. His hands. Anywhere.
Fuck, maybe I did have too much wine.
seventeen
Colson
ThethingIlikemost about Sadie is that she doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. We can just be. That’s how it feels tonight, or whenever it’s only the two of us together.
We make our way down to the beach as the sun dips lower, the sky stretching itself out in bands of gold and pale pink. The sand is still warm from the day, holding onto the heat like it doesn’t want to let it go yet.
Sadie had us stop at her car, grabbing a blanket like this was always the plan. Like she didn’t even question whether we’d end up here.
She spreads it out over the sand. I watch her do it, the ease of her movements, the quiet confidence of someone who belongs to a place. I sit when she pats the spot beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
She opens the brown paper bag, containing whatever she grabbed at the shop. Sadie hands me my half.
Peanut butter and jelly. Cut clean down the middle. A bag of chips between us.
My chest tightens. I pick up my half, turning it over in my hands like it might vanish if I don’t pay attention. “How did you know?”
She shrugs, like it’s no big thing. “You bring it sometimes when you’re coaching at the rec center. Wait, is there an issue with the jelly or something? Is it that you’re very specific about a very generic sandwich?” Sadie waits for me to tell her that something isn’t right.
