I didn't move. I lay there and let myself feel all of it—the ache between my legs that was new and all mine, the slow rise of his breathing against my spine, the humid air on my face and the warmth of him everywhere else.
My body felt different. Not because of what we'd done, though that was part of it. Because of what I'd let happen. What I'd chosen.
The bucket list was still in my shorts, crumpled somewhere near the edge of the sleeping bag. I didn't need to look at it. I'd been thinking about it wrong the whole time—treating it like a checklist, something to complete and move through and measure myself against.
Did it.
Did it.
Did it.
Am I different yet?
But that wasn't how it worked. The list wasn't a ladder with a better version of myself waiting at the top. It was a door I'd opened, and on the other side of it was this. A clearing in the mountains. A man whose hands knew exactly how to build a bear hang and exactly how to touch me. And a morning I hadn't earned by being capable. I'd earned it by showing up when I wasn't.
Duff stirred behind me. His arm tightened, pulling me closer, and his mouth pressed against the back of my neck. Not a kiss—contact. Confirmation.
"Morning," he said.
His voice was rough with sleep. It did something to my heart that I was going to have to get used to.
"Morning."
"You're thinking."
I almost laughed. "How can you tell?"
"You're holding your breath." His thumb traced a slow line across my hip. "You do that when you're working something out."
He'd known me for less than a day and he already knew that. That should have scared me. It didn't. It felt like being read by someone who wasn't going to use what he found against me.
I turned over to face him. His eyes were half-open, dark in the pre-dawn light, and he looked at me without hurry—the same way he'd looked at me in the firefly-lit dark, the same way he'd looked at me when I handed him the list. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to spend it here.
"I'm not going back," I said.
He didn't ask me to clarify. He knew I didn't mean the tent.
"To Charlotte," I said anyway, because I needed to hear it in my own voice. "To school. To the version of my life where nothing was mine and I just showed up and went through the motions." I swallowed. "I've known that for a long time. I just didn't know what to do instead."
"And now?"
"Now I know I can want things."
His mouth shifted. The full version of the smile I'd been catching edges of all night—quiet and real and aimed entirely at me.
"I know," he said.
The birds got louder. The sky was lightening, and through the trees, I could see the first streaks of gold hitting the upper canopy. It was going to be another hot day. I could already feel the warmth building, the air thickening, the woods gearing up for another round.
"I need to deal with the car," I said.
"Already handled." He sat up, and the sight of him—bare-chested in the early light, unhurried, muscles shifting as he reached for his shirt—hit me somewhere deep. "Walked down to the main road before you woke up. Called Flint. He's bringing a belt for the alternator."
"Flint."
"Works at Wildwood River Co. Runs safety and rescue. Knows his way around an engine." Duff pulled his shirt over his head. "He'll be here within the hour."
"You hiked four miles down and back while I was sleeping."
