Chapter 47: Forty Seven

Declan uncorked the bottle of red wine he’d brought out to the back deck and poured it into two wide glasses. I sat on the edge of a wooden bench, my legs curled beneath me, watching the light play across the water.

“Cheers,” he said, handing me a glass and clinking his gently against it.

“To what?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “To the water. To our first vacation.”

I smiled, the glass cool in my hand. “That sounds about right.”

We sipped slowly, letting the conversation drift into soft laughs and lingering glances. I asked him about his favorite books, he rattled off titles like he had rehearsed the answer, but I knew he meant them. He asked me about my childhood. I told him about the time I tried to start a neighborhood newsletter at age ten, and how no one read it except my dad. He asked if I was close with my parents. I had the urge to make him meet them.

The wine had gone straight to my cheeks, warm and lazy. A breeze stirred the trees gently, and every so often, the wood of the deck creaked under our movements.

Declan leaned back in his chair, ankles crossed, one hand wrapped around his wine glass. “You always do that,” he said, glancing at me.

“Do what?”

“You make things feel so easy.”

I gave him a wry smile and took another sip. “In a good way?”

“The best way,” he nodded, “I love,” he gulped, “Spending time with you. Especially like this.”

I smiled. “You mean when I’m drunk?”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich. “No, I mean it. You have this way of... settling into spaces. Like you belong there. Not everyone knows how to do that.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I looked out toward the water instead. The lake glowed, the last light of day dancing along the surface as ripples were made in the water. I stood up and padded barefoot down the steps of the deck toward the dock.

“Is the water warm?” I asked, looking behind me.

“I don’t think so, Willow.”

I continued my descent to the lake, excitedly running, taking off my sweater, throwing it back at Declan. He caught it.

“Where are we going?” he asked behind me.

“Swimming,” I called, now pulling my shirt over my head. “You said we had the place to ourselves, right?”

Declan followed, slower, but with that amused, interested look on his face that always made my stomach flutter. I kicked off my pants and stood at the edge in just my bra and underwear, testing the water with my toes.

It was cold,  not freezing, but just enough to make my breath catch for a second when I jumped in.

The lake closed over my head and for a moment, everything was muffled, suspended. I rose again with a gasp and laughter bubbling from my lips.

“Holy shit! Come on, it’s amazing!”

Declan chuckled, shaking his head as he set his glass down and peeled off his shirt. He made it halfway to the dock before I caught myself staring, again. Always. The soft light kissed the sharp lines of his chest, the light smattering of his hair on his chest looking darker in this lighter.

“You’re ogling,” he said as he walked toward me.

“You’re smug,” I shot back.

Then he dove cleanly in, barely a splash, and reappeared just beside me. His hair was slicked back, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You’re right,” he said, catching his breath. “It’s perfect.”

We treaded water side by side for a while, the lake cool against our skin, our bodies occasionally brushing under the surface. He floated on his back with ease, eyes closed. I stared at the sky. The first stars were beginning to peek out.

“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” he said suddenly, his voice a little breathless.

“Like what?”

“Anything. Random. A secret.”

I thought for a second. “I once entered a hot dog eating contest when I was thirteen.”

He turned to look at me, blinking. “What?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “I came in second. My mom was horrified.”

“That might be the most terrifying and impressive thing I’ve heard today.”

He swam closer, the playful grin on his lips fading into something softer. “Your turn,” I said, treading backward.

“Alright,” he said. “I used to write poetry.”

I stopped swimming. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Terrible stuff. Angsty. Overwrought. But yeah. I’d sit at the lake with this old notebook and write until it got dark.”

I tilted my head. “Do you still have any of it?”

He grinned. “Not a chance.”

“I want proof.”

“Nope. Never happening.”

We laughed again, and somehow I’d ended up in his arms. The lake around us felt like its own little world. His hands settled at my waist under the water, his thumbs brushing the line of my ribs.

“I want to know everything about you,” he said. His fingers traced circles on my skin. “I want to memorize you. Like a poem.”

“I could stay here forever,” I whispered, and I meant it. “With you.:

He didn’t kiss me right away. He just looked at me like he was memorizing the moment. Memorizing me. A poem.

Then he dipped his head and kissed me, slow and unhurried. Warm lips, the coolness of the water, my fingers tangled in the back of his hair. The kiss deepened, the kind that tasted like possibility and happiness and laughter and everything beautiful and sweet.

When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine.

“Let’s never go back,” I murmured.

He smiled faintly. “If only we could.”

We stayed in the lake until the moon was high and our fingers were pruny. When we finally climbed back onto the dock, dripping and breathless, we wrapped ourselves in towels and lay back on the warm wood.

His hand found mine. No words passed between us, but it didn’t matter.

Once we were dry and the night air had cooled our flushed skin, we padded barefoot back up the dock, wrapped in thick towels. At some point, I had dozed off for five minutes, and Declan had run inside and gotten us two towels. He had dried my hair so softly while I was still asleep.

The stars were scattered across the sky now, bold and bright without the city lights to dim them. As we walked, every so often, I’d glance sideways at Declan and catch him already looking at me.

“What?” I asked shyly at one point, and he just shook his head.

“Come here,” he said suddenly, stopping just outside the door.

Before I could respond, he swept me up into his arms, one strong motion that caught me off guard and made me squeal.

“Declan!”

“What?” he grinned, tightening his hold. “I can’t carry my girl inside?”

“I can walk!” I protested, but I was still settling in into his arms, grinning with joy.

“You won’t be able to tomorrow after I’m done with you tonight.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, laughing into his neck.

He nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside, still carrying me like I weighed nothing.

The cabin was dim, only a single lamp casting a golden glow across the wooden walls. It smelled like cedar and lakewater and something warm I couldn’t name.

He set me down gently in the middle of the living room, his hands lingering at my waist. I was suddenly, acutely aware of every inch of space between us, and every inch that wasn’t there.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then he reached up and tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear. “You fit here,” he said quietly. “Like this house has been waiting for you.”

My breath caught.

There were a million things I could say. Jokes, deflections, something light to ease the weight of the moment. But I didn’t want to.

So I just whispered, “I think I’ve been waiting for it too.”

And then I kissed him. Or maybe he kissed me. Either way, everything felt quieter after that.