She sets the stone down carefully. “I think it might.”
I look at the water. “Yeah,” I say. “We’ll see.”
I feel something click into place, the way a deal does when both parties finally stop circling and put their cards on the table. We sit there a moment longer, shoulder to shoulder, watching the water.
She leans her head against my shoulder, and I don't move. The limestone is cool under my hand, and somewhere in my jacket pocket the little heart-shaped stone sits, smooth and quiet, like it's been waiting to be found.
I should be thinking about the permits. The landscaper quote. The email I haven't returned from the buyer's attorney. There's always something to fill the silence with.
I'm not filling it.
I notice this the way you notice a sound has stopped, the hum of something that's been running so long you forgot it was running. I've been filling silences since I was twenty-two years old. Filling them with work, with plans, with the next thing and the thing after that. It's served me well. It's also, I'm beginning to suspect, kept me from noticing certain things.
I don't know what to do with that, so I file it under the springs, and the moonlight, and the particular way this woman fits against my shoulder. Temporary variables. I'll sort them out later.
I don't believe that, but I'm not ready to admit it yet. I reach for Lauren and cup her face in my hands, ready to go in for another kiss. I’m millimeters from her face when I hear someone crashing through the trees.
It’s my brother Remy. I groan.
“Max!”
I raise my head. Lauren sits up straight.
“Max, there you are.”
Remy skids to a stop a few feet away, slightly out of breath. He either doesn't notice or pretends not to notice what we’re doing in the moonlight.
“What's going on?” I ask.
“Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Lauren? I was told to go find her, but I’m not sure which one she is.”
“She's right here.”
Lauren turns. “What's wrong?”
“It's Kate. She's sitting out on the limestone ledge on the other side of the spring, crying. Doesn't want to talk to anyone but you. “Keeps saying she needs you.” Remy runs a hand through his hair. “She won't come back to the party. Damien's trying to talk to her and she's telling him to stay back. He's beside himself.”
Lauren is already on her feet. “Is someone with her? Is she about to jump?”
“I don't think so,” Remy adds. “Tate's keeping an eye from a distance.”
“I know the ledge,” I say. “The rocks are stable there. C'mon, I'll take you.”
Lauren turns and our eyes meet. Something passes between us — an acknowledgment of something unfinished, something that will have to wait.
“We'll resume this conversation later,” she murmurs.
“Yes,” I say. “We definitely will.”
