“The water. Are you feeling inspired?”
I look out over the water, taking in the view outside of the boat for the first time, and it takes my breath away. He wasn’t lying. The sun spreads golden light over everything. Shades of orange and soft pinks stretch across the horizon, bending into the curve of the now clear lake, and for a moment, it feels like we’re in the middle of a postcard. Like time has thinned and the universe itself has paused just for us.
“It doesn’t seem real,” I whisper. “Beauty like this…it feels overwhelming, doesn’t it?”
“It is.”
Something in the way he says it makes my chest tighten. When I look back at him, he isn’t watching the sunrise on the water—he’s watching me.
Wings flap in my stomach, and my heart beat matches the rhythm as I stare back at him, every nerve ending on edge.
Keeping a tight hold on the paddle, Maverick leans in, and I still. I’m not sure if it's instinct, fear of the boat tipping, or just his closeness, but I hold my breath all the same.
He lifts his hand, his thumb brushing the top of my cheek, and the warmth of it settles deep in my bones.
“Make a wish.”
My heart is beating so violently, I can’t think straight. When I glance down, I realize he’s holding an eyelash between his fingers.
“Come on, Chlo,” he smiles around the words, “you’re not going to convince me that the girl who believes that stars mean something, believes fortune cookies hold some truth, and believes in love above everything else, doesn’t believe in wishes.”
It should make me feel exposed. Instead, it makes something inside me melt. Maverick never teases me or brushes things off. He says everything like it matters. Like they’re pieces of me worth keeping track of. I know I’m a romantic, probably more than I should be. But there’s something about being remembered that I wasn’t quite prepared for. He didn’t have to listen, and more than that, he didn't need to remember. But it mattered to me. And that was enough for him.
24
maverick
The flamesof the fire flicker over the meat, and when I rotate the metal skewer, the bottom of the hot dogs are blistered and burnt.
“Damn, Hall.” Gabe slings his arm over my shoulder and points his beer can at the charred meat. “I said I liked my dogs toasted, not cooked to dust.”
“You don’t have to worry about it because we didn’t bring enough for you anyway. You get mustard for dinner.” I shove him off me and take a glance over my shoulder. Savannah’s eyes are rolling but it’s the giggle Chloe is hiding behind her solo cup that distracts me.
Silas holds out a plate prepared with buns, and I drop the sausages burnt side down into them.
“Take a break, buddy,” he mumbles with a pat on my back. “We’ll give these ones to Gabe and Parker, and I’ll make the rest.”
I make my way to the chair next to Chloe as she holds out her hand and begins crossing something off her invisible paper.
“What are you doing?”
“Crossing professional chef off your list.”
“To be fair, I think a bonfire just has a different temperament than an electric stove.”
She laughs that rich, deep, full laugh of hers, and it hits me square in the chest.
A flash catches my eye, and I peel my gaze away from Chloe to find Savannah lowering the camera. She gives us a toothy grin before shaking the Polaroid and heading over to the picnic bench with Noah.
Chloe shakes her head with another small laugh as she pulls her legs up and tucks them beneath the blanket on her lap.
The fire keeps steady, and when the wind shifts, it’s not the flames that alert me. “Did you switch lotions?” I ask without thinking.
“What?”
“You just always smell like lavender, and now—” I lean in, trying to make out what the difference is, but it’s all wrong. “You don't."
“Oh.” Her brow furrows slightly, and I want to throttle myself for saying anything. She probably thinks I’m a fucking psycho for noticing. “No. I just forgot my lotion and had to borrow some from Sav.”
