Wendy sits on the couch, pulling me with her. Her hair is down and curly where the rain hit it. I sit beside her.
“Want to play cards?”
“Yeah, I’ll play you.”
I grab the jar of shells on the counter and the deck I tucked in the drawer a few days ago.
“Oh, we’re playing with seashells?”
“Help divvy them out,” I tell her, shuffling.
The lantern makes the room glow. The flame flickers, and our shadows dance against the wall. She looks fucking beautiful in this light.
“We each have twenty-seven shells,” she says. “One equals an ante.”
I pass the cards out, and we start playing. We drink and laugh, go all in and lose, then play some more.
Rain slams against the building in a burst so hard that the candles flicker. It lasts maybe ninety seconds and pulls back. The wind after it is louder than before.
“There’s no one I’d rather be with right now than you,” Wendy says. “We’re riding out a storm in a one-hundred-year-old house like idiots.”
“Okay, is this where I should be concerned?”
“Not yet.” She hiccups, glancing down at the radar. “It’s not classified as a Category 1. Just a tropical storm. Can do a lot of damage, but it’s not going to blow the B&B down.”
“That’s what I assumed, too, but also, I don’t know how structurally sound this house is.”
The lantern gets lower, and we need more kerosine.
“Carter, the other day, at the surf competition …”
I can feel the storm building. Not the one on the outside, but the one inside me. The truth is stacking in the silence that I can’t hold much longer.
“I didn’t say it because I can’t,” she admits. “Of course there is the deadline, but this feels too fast, doesn’t it?” She looks at me. “Being in love with you scares me.”
I study her. “Do it afraid.”
A candle pops.
“That’s what my sister’s motto was,” I say. “She used to say it all the time. I think back through the years, about all the things that worked out and made me who I am right now, andeach decision to do something was a risk. But if you really want something, you do it afraid.”
She lets out a shallow breath, and I close my eyes.
Do it afraid.
“Before this goes any further”—my voice goes shaky—“I have to share some things with you.”
Her brows furrow. “Why don’t I like the sound of your voice?”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
The color drains from her face. “Oh my God, you’re married!”
“What? No,” I say.
“You’re breaking this off right now,” she continues.
“No, I didn’t say?—”
