I look at her like the answer’s obvious. “Only the one I married.”
She laughs, and she grows quiet when the waterfall finally opens up in front of us. She stops short. Mist hangs in the air, cool against our skin, sunlight catching in the spray like it’s holding on to whatever daylight is left.
“Oh,” she breathes. “I can’t believe this place.”
“This is my favorite place on the island.”
She looks at me then and nods. “Your waterfall tattoo.”
The water is cold when we step in, shocking at first, then exhilarating. She squeals and grabs onto me, shivering as her fingers dig into my arms, and laughs.
I pull her to me, her legs hooking around my hips as I move us under the waterfall. Water rushes over us as her hands slide into my hair. Mine are at her waist, pulling her against me, my dick hard and ready for her. There’s nowhere for us to be. Just us at sunset in one of my favorite places. Where we’re exactly supposed to be in this moment. Together.
I dip my head down to hers and kiss her softly, needing her, wanting her, and giving her what she needs. I slide her swimsuit bottoms down and kick my trunks off, pulling her up and slamming into her, both of us panting with need and desire. I feel her grip me and come around me, and my body shatters into hers, us becoming one.
Later, we stretch out on warm rocks, the sun drying our skin, the sound of the water steady and constant. Silvie’s head rests on my chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles there like she’s memorizing me.
“I want this to be real with you,” I say quietly.
The words surprise me even as they leave my mouth. I don’t take them back.
She lifts her head, eyes searching my face. “It is real.”
“I love you,” I say. It doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels honest.
Her smile is soft and sure. “I love you too. It stopped being fake a long time ago for me.”
Relief hits me so hard I have to close my eyes for a second. Like I’ve been holding my breath through this whole thing and didn’t even realize it.
We stay there for a while, wrapped around each other, the world narrowed down to water and sun and skin. It’s slow and unhurried and feels nothing like the frantic wanting I used to mistake for love.
Eventually, she shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you want kids?”
The question lands softly but carries weight. I don’t deflect. I don’t joke.
“Yeah,” I say. “I always have.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Really?”
“Really,” I say. “I didn’t have a dad growing up. I think that stuck with me.”
She listens, quiet and attentive.
“I want to be there,” I continue. “Not just around. I want to show up. Make breakfasts. Go to games. Teach them how to surf and how to treat people right. Family means everything to me because I had to build mine from scratch.”
Her eyes shine, and she swallows. “I want that too.”
I pull her closer, pressing my forehead to hers. “Maybe this could work,” I say.
She smiles. “Maybe it already is.”
The waterfall keeps rushing behind us, steady and constant, and for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like something I’m bracing for.
It feels like something I want.
