Rose’s fingers thread through my hair, drawing me closer. When our lips meet this time, there’s nothing gentle about it. The kiss deepens, as fierce and consuming as the storm around us, filled with all the words we haven’t said yet and all the promises we both intend to keep. The rest of the world falls away until there’s nothing but this – her warmth against me, the tasteof her lips, and the certainty that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
CHAPTER 27
Rose
Aheavy silence fills Levi’s truck as we drive toward the airport, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the windshield and the rhythmic sweep of windshield wipers. His familiar scent surrounds me – salt, cedar, and something wild that reminds me of storm-tossed waves. My throat aches with unshed tears, but I keep my expression bright and determined, like we’re discussing weekend plans instead of goodbye. It’s the same face I’ve perfected over the last two days – the one that says I’m fine, we’re fine, everything will be fine – even as my heart feels like it’s being slowly torn in two.
I force myself to keep smiling, even as I count down the miles with each passing road sign. Forty-three miles left. Forty-two. The gray morning feels appropriate, as if the weather understands what it means to say goodbye to someone you love. I fidget with the sleeve of his flannel shirt that I’m wearing – the one I stole from his closet this morning, trying to capture a piece of him to take with me. The fabric still smells like him, and I wonder how long it will take before that fades.
We can make this work. Wehave tomake this work. I repeat the words like a mantra, trying to believe them even as my heart rebels against the idea of leaving. My fingers trace the small kraken pendant Levi gave me last night – silver and delicate, our secret hidden in plain sight – and I try to draw strength from it, from the promise it represents.
“I can probably get out here again next month,” I say, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. “If I use my credit card miles for the flight, it won’t be too expensive. And maybe I could even do some weekend trips – leave Friday night, come back Sunday evening.”
The words tumble out faster and faster, like if I just keep talking, I can hold reality at bay. Keep pretending that the past two days haven’t slipped through my fingers like water, even though we’d tried to savor every moment. Even though we’d barely left his bed, mapping each other’s bodies with desperate hands and whispered promises, as if we could store up enough touches to last until we could be together again.
Levi reaches across the console and threads his fingers through mine, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry I can’t come visit you,” he says softly, pain etching his features. “Being too far from the ocean… I wouldn’t survive. And Santa Fe—” He shakes his head, the words catching. “It’s about as far from the sea as possible.”
The truth of it sits heavy in my chest. Two thousand miles of land between my home and the nearest coast. A vast desert expanse that might as well be an impassable barrier for Levi.
“I’ll help with plane tickets whenever you can make it out here,” he continues, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm. “However often you want to come. There will always be room for you in my home.”
“Plus, we can do calls every day,” I add quickly, trying to focus on solutions instead of the ache in my chest. “Video calls.Morning and night, if we want. And texts throughout the day. Maybe you could even set up your tablet on your deck or at the beach sometimes so that you can shift forms, and I can see your kraken self too.”
“Every hour,” he promises, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Every minute.”
I laugh, but it comes out watery. “That might make it hard to get any work done.”
“Worth it,” he says, and my heart clenches at the rough emotion in his voice.
The airport appears far too soon, its stark buildings a harsh reminder of our reality. Levi parks in the short-term lot instead of dropping me at the curb, and I’m pathetically grateful for even these few extra minutes.
Dread builds in my body as each step brings us closer to goodbye. He carries my bag until we reach security, his fingers laced through mine. When he pulls me into his arms, I breathe him in deeply, drawing in his scent – a smell that now means home, safety, and love. His arms tighten around me, as if he could keep me here by strength of will alone.
“I love you,” he whispers against my hair. “Both parts of me love you so much.”
The tears I’ve been fighting all morning finally spill over. “I love you too. All of you.”
The kiss starts gentle but grows desperate, and I taste the salt of my tears between us. His hands come up to cradle my face, thumbs sweeping across my damp cheeks in a futile attempt to stem the flow. I close my eyes and try to burn every sensation into my memory – the careful strength in his touch, the slight rasp of his callused fingers against my skin, the soft sound he makes in his throat when I melt against him.
When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, and I open my eyes to find his ocean-blue ones watching mewith such tenderness it makes my heart ache. My artist’s mind captures it all like a painting I never want to forget – the warmth of his hands, the shared trembling of our breath, the love written so clearly across his features – I store it all away in the hopes that it will sustain me through the lonely days ahead.
“Go,” he says roughly. “Before I decide to kidnap you and swim us both to some deserted island.”
I manage a wobbly laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”
With one final, desperate kiss, I force myself to turn away. Past the security checkpoint, I turn back one last time. He stands exactly where I left him, hands in his pockets, watching me through the glass partition. I blow him a kiss, and he makes a show of catching it, pressing it to his heart. The gesture is so sweet and silly that it makes me smile even as more tears fall.
I mostly hold it together through security, through the terminal, and through boarding. But as soon as the plane starts to take off, the tears come in earnest. The businessman beside me shifts uncomfortably, offering an awkward tissue that I accept with a mumbled thanks. I press my forehead to the window, watching the coastline shrink until there’s nothing but a blanket of gray clouds.
The desert heatslams into me as I follow the signs for arrivals pickup, so different from the gentle ocean breezes I’ve grown used to. I wheel my carry-on down the crowded sidewalk, past concrete planters filled with dusty cacti that only emphasize how far I am from Maine’s lush coastline. Through the stream of waiting cars and reunion hugs, I spot Heather’s blue Subaru idling at the curb. Purl bounces excitedly in the backseat, her tail a blur against the window. The last of my careful composurecrumbles when Heather steps out of the driver’s side, her face full of understanding and concern. She meets me halfway across the pickup lane, pulling me into a tight hug, and suddenly I’m sobbing again, ugly crying right there between luggage carts and car exhaust, the hot desert wind trying to dry my tears.
“Who do I need to kill?” Heather demands, making me laugh wetly against her shoulder.
“No one,” I manage. “He’s perfect. That’s the problem.”
The next few days pass in a blur. I try to work, I really do, but my mind keeps drifting back to Maine. Back to quiet mornings on my deck, watching the fog rise from the harbor like a veil as I drank my coffee. Back to diamond-scattered waves and salt-kissed air. Back to strong arms and tender kisses, and the feeling of being completely, utterly understood and accepted.
The only bright spots in my days are our daily calls. Today, I prop up my tablet in my studio, angling it so Levi can see the easel where I’m working on a painting of the lighthouse.
