We walk through an astounding rainforest, with trees even larger than the ones we saw yesterday, for about thirty minutes before fog obscures the wooden path. Ahead is a bridge over a spring of water, steam curling from its surface.
“Can you imagine how much we would have loved this when we were kids?” I ask George. “It’s like an enchanted forest.”
He smiles. “You would have been on the hunt for a witch.”
In a wooden structure that looks over the rocky shore, we stash our things and change into our bathing suits. Mine is a pale yellow gingham one-piece with a bow in the front—the most modest suit I packed. George is wearing his Bond stripes.
He hands me a pair of brand-new Tevas.
“Bare feet are not advised,” he says, and he puts on his own.
We climb down a steep slope of jagged rocks to where the spring cascades in steaming waterfalls overhead. I put my hand in the water and pull it out quickly, shocked by how hot it is. Below the falls are clear pools tucked into narrow crevices. I was picturing couples and hidden spots for kissing, and I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed to find out that there’s no privacy here and the vibe is much more family friendly. There are children and grandparents, and groups of friends, but no more than twenty of us. Whenever someone steps into the water for the first time, they let out a laugh of astonishment at the temperature.
George and I sit together, and there’s no way to escape touching each other. We eventually move to give someone else a turn in the pool. I climb to a pretty spot next to a waterfall and George follows. I tip my head back, letting the cascade of hot water flow over me.
George is facing away from me, his head bent forward and his hands planted on the rock. I know it’s a bad idea to let my gaze crawl over the muscles in his shoulders and follow the water running down his back. I definitely should not be noticing how his swim trunks are plastered to his thighs and backside. And yet…
According to George, these geothermal pools were created by fissures in the earth’s crust when groundwater heated by magma rose to the surface. It’s precisely how I feel. Something inside me has cracked open, and my need for George is spilling out. I want everyone to leave so I can run my tongue from the base of his spine all the way up to his neck. I want to dig my nails into his shoulders.
Suddenly the water is too hot and my head is spinning. I have to take a seat on a rocky ledge away from the springs to cool down. I stare out at the sea, wondering if all thiswantis clouding my judgment. The wise thing to do would be to shove it back down, to bottle it up. But I’m not sure I can. More than that, I don’t think I want to.
George and I are good together. In every way. We know almost everything there is to know about each other. The only stone left unturned was dislodged by our kiss yesterday.
This week has opened my eyes in so many ways. I think about the meal I made last night and how good it felt to create something of my own.
“What are you thinking about?” I hear George ask a few minutes later.
I turn to meet his gaze. He walks toward me, pushing wet strands of hair from his face. He sits on the ledge, searching my eyes.
I’m thinking terrifying, life-changing thoughts. I’m thinking that I want to pick up that stone and chuck it into the sea. I’m thinking that if today is about owning what I want, then today could change my life.
“Everything,” I tell him.
“Tell me?”
“I’m thinking about how good I felt making dinner last night, and how I know my job isn’t enough for me. I’m thinking about how to make my work more exciting, and that I need to talk to Brie. I’m wondering how I can find time to do something that’s all my own.”
George listens, his gaze brimming with an emotion I’m afraid to name. “Those are beautiful thoughts.”
“I’m also thinking about you. About what I want.”
A smile whispers on his lips. “I want to hear those thoughts, too…when you’re ready.”
Chapter Thirty-six
We drive to Tonquin Beach when we get back from the hot springs. George wants to see the tide pools. I protest because I’m ready for a nap, but when we get to the beach after a short walk through the forest, any argument dies on my lips.
The receding tide has uncovered an entire ecosystem clinging to the rocks. Hundreds of starfish—dark purple, orange, and red. All manner of kelp and seaweed. Barnacles and mussels. Alien-looking dark green blobs sitting on the sand that George says are anemones. Tiny crabs we can hear scuttling among the rocks. It’s like we’re under the ocean. I’ve never seen anything like it. I know my mom would love it. I can almost hear her breathless excitement.
In just one day, I’ve witnessed more natural wonder than I have in my entire life. It’s too much for one person to hold. I wish I could share the beauty of this place. I picture a section ina cookbook with recipes inspired by Vancouver Island and the west coast of Canada, accompanied by vivid photographs.
“Here,” George says, pulling me from my reverie. “Look at this.”
I follow him to a dip in the rocks, where a pool of water has been left behind. It’s full of what looks like bright green and pink blooms. The green ones are much larger, some the size of a salad plate. “What are they?” I ask, marveling.
“Sea anemones. They open in the water. Aren’t they amazing?”
“They are,” I tell him. “They’re wonderful.”
