Page 58 of Chasing Clouds

“Camille, I’m not going to race you around the parking lot.”

“I didn’t say you were. Ugh, whatever.” I shift and cross my legs so I’m leaning against the back with all our stuff in the front. Grabbing his hat, I slip it on then look up and catch him taking a photo of me.

“What are you doing?” I’m kind of shocked.

“Documenting our trip. Who knows when I’ll have another one?”

“Okay, well, come down here and let’s take one together, and then you have to share them with me.”

“You know I will.” He moves the hat from my head to his then drops down next to me for a selfie, or should I say an us-ie. The body wash from his shower wafts over me, and he smells so good. I smile as he holds out his long arm and takes the photo. I love that he wants photos of us. I want them too.

“Come on, let’s go get some groceries and buy Ali and Drew a blender. How they survived without protein shakes, I’ll never know.”

SHE’S RIGHT—THIS feels like what I expect a honeymoon to feel like, and I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it at all. In fact, I can’t remember ever having a better time than I am with her right now.

Something has happened to her while we’ve been here over the last week. Granted, I think this all goes back to the fact that I didn’t really know her before, but if I had to guess, something’s changed. Her real smiles are out in full force, no more of the fake ones. Her posture, although still perfect, looks relaxed, and her laughter is even more infectious than it was before. She’s still poised and classy in a way that has me constantly staring at her, in a way that couldn’t disappear even if she tried, but now she’s goofy, outgoing, and more carefree. It’s like she was sleeping and now she’s awake.

Every day, we spend almost all our time together. We’ve spent hours down on the beach, whether just lying by the water, collecting shells, or exploring. We’ve gone on bike rides that stretch from one end of the island to the other. We’ve fished off of the pier, cooked dinner, played board games—you name it, we’ve done it. The only time we are apart is when I head over to a local gym I found to get in a decent workout. Even then, she’s all I think of.

What do I think about? I think about the slope of her neck and how dainty her collarbone is. I think about the shape of her lips when she’s smiling at me, just for me. I think about the tiny clothes she wears on her tight body, the way she’s considerate of my health goals when she cooks for us, and how she thinks me trying to hide in a disguise is the funniest thing ever. I think about so much, and I know for certain, even long after we’ve said goodbye, I’ll think most about what she looks like when she has her headphones in, her eyes are closed, and she’s dancing around the house or on the beach.

Yes, she danced on the beach in front of other people.

The first time, I was watching clips Jack had sent over. She was stretching next to me, and then all of a sudden she wasn’t. She twisted in some graceful move and was standing. Her arms, her feet, her body—they glided across the sand, and I know I wasn’t the only one watching her. She was mesmerizing, and her skill and techniques painted us all a story of how deeply she’s classically trained. She cast a spell on all of us, me most of all. For weeks she’s had this constant worry about propriety, about how people will react if she’s seen doing something less than perfect, but dancing on the beach, it was like she didn’t have a care in the world.

And then there are the nights.

Every night I lie next to her, and it gets harder and harder to not lose myself completely in her. I’ve tried to respect any boundaries that may be in place between us, but we are on vacation, technically we are married, and even though she’s not, right now she sure feels like mine—and I really want what’s mine.

This morning, when we woke up, she was draped across me and lying on my chest. Her face was buried in my neck, her chest was pressed to mine, and her leg was bent and across my groin. There was no hiding the evidence of what the combination of her on top of me and the early hour was doing to my body, but she didn’t shy away. Instead, she rubbed the length of her leg across me as she stretched out slowly. I could have died. On. The. Spot.

I want her, she knows I want her, and I’m certain she wants me too. This slow burn that’s been building between us over the last three weeks is on the cusp of igniting into scorching flames.

I lie here for a good thirty minutes to tame the blood roaring through my body.

“Morning,” she finally mumbles, the sound of her voice vibrating from her chest into mine.

I don’t respond. Instead, I grab her hips, pushing her down to create some friction, and she lets out a small noise as she wraps her hands under my shoulders and hides her face against my chest.

Eventually she looks up at me seductively. “Maybe later,” she whispers, taking in every feature of my face, and then her eyes widen with excitement and she sits up, straddling me. “But first, you promised me a boat ride.” She squeezes my shoulders, the warmth of her hands imprinting my already overly sensitive skin, shimmies off me, throws the covers back, and hops out of bed.

I continue to lie there unmoving as her eyes slide to my tented boxer briefs.

“That’s your fault,” I say in a deadpan tone. I’m teasing her and she knows it, but her cheeks down to her chest flush red. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, I reach for her and pull her between my legs. As I lay my forehead against her stomach, her hands come up to thread through my hair, and I glide mine down over her lower back, butt, and the backs of her legs. She feels so good. “Just so you know, we’ll be revisiting that ‘maybe later’ statement at some point.”

“I think we should,” she whispers, her fingers tightening in my hair.

Letting out a sigh, I push her away and stand up. I tower over her, and I love it. “I did promise you a boat ride, so let’s go out now before it gets too hot. I’ll hit the gym afterward.”

She squeals a little, smiling, and hugs my arm. “I’m so excited! I haven’t been out on a boat in a really long time.”

I don’t tell her that I’ve never been on a boat.

Hours later, after a little fumbling and what I feel is a lot of dumb luck on my part, we’ve taken a rented boat from Anna Maria down past Sarasota and back. I now understand why people love boating so much—there’s a sense of freedom in being on the water under an open sky and having the wind blow through your hair.

For lunch, we stopped on a small island Ali told us about. It was deserted and covered with large, undamaged shells. Camille filled an entire bag with unique finds as we walked around the perimeter, claiming she wanted to put them in a jar as a souvenir. I took pictures of her and us instead. Those will be my souvenirs.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she says, looking over at me from where she’s lying stomach down on her towel.