CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Joshua
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Joshua
I ’m not used to hugs. Handshakes, shoulder pats, the occasional nudge—those I know well. And with women I date, there’s kissing, there’s sex, but rarely just… hugging.
So when Emily throws her arms around me, her face pressed into my neck, it takes me a second to adjust. She’s kneeling, leaning into me, and instinctively, I open my legs to pull her in closer. My hands settle on her back, and we just stay like that—wrapped around each other in a quiet, unspoken understanding.
For minutes, there’s no need to move, to speak. Just the warmth of her, grounding me, like I’m holding something I didn’t know I needed. And wow , did I need this.
When she finally lets go, I notice that her eyes are misty.
“Thank you,” she says as she tucks her hair behind her ear and looks into my eyes. “For tonight, for the past few weeks, for the mysterious phone call that saved my life, for everything.”
“Everything?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she nods. “I know we’re in this weird fake relationship thing. But I just think you should know that nothing about my gratitude is fake. You were there every time I needed someone to escape with. And now you’re here when I need someone to talk to. So, yeah, thank you.”
There’s a weight in her words. And not just because she’s being honest with me, but because it feels like that scene in the movies where it’s the last few moments of bliss before the plot builds up and hell breaks loose.
“Don’t thank me,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You say that, but we both know what happens after all this,” she says.
“We don’t have to lose touch, Emily, I’ll still be there,” I say. The thought of letting her go and go back to being strangers is unsettling.
She shakes her head. “Yeah, but, don’t you think it’s just a matter of time before our old lives catch up to us? Eventually you’re gonna start dating again, the way you usually do, and I don’t think I can stand by and just watch when it happens,” she says. For some reason, that thought makes my stomach churn. I can’t think of dating anyone else. Not when she’s around. “And maybe someday I’ll meet someone. Are you telling me that even when there are other people in our lives, we’ll still be there? That we can still be whatever this is?”
Her words hang in the air, and I feel a familiar tension in my chest, something that’s been quietly building since the beginning. She’s right, though—our lives are complicated, tangled in old habits and patterns that don’t always allow for the sort of closeness we’ve found here. But the thought of letting this, letting her, slip away? It twists something deep inside me.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I know this feels different. I don’t want to just go back to the way things were, where we’re practically strangers.”
She sighs, looking down at our hands. “But what if this doesn’t survive outside this bubble? What if it just... fades?”
I look at her, and her eyes are mirroring the vulnerability I’m feeling. I’ve only started to allow myself to want her, and now I’m already on the verge of losing her. Even now, I’m already hurting her, and I don’t know if I can handle this. I don’t know how to do this.
“I don’t want this to fade, Em. I don’t care if it’s complicated, or if we end up hurting. I just…” I trail off.
She looks up, her expression softening. She presses her lips together, and a quiet, almost resigned look settles over her face. She gives me a faint smile and she sighs.
“Maybe we can’t know yet. But for right now, I don’t want to think about anything else. This night is too good for that.”
It bothers me that everything is still unresolved between us. But Emily seems to feel better because she relaxes. So I just smile and nod.
And with that, her walls seem to ease down, just a little, as she leans into me, the weight of the moment pulling us closer than I thought was possible. For now, in this tent, with no one else around, it’s enough.
I lean forward, and she follows, our gazes meeting, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us. I put one hand on her cheek, and she leans on my palm. Her skin is soft and warm against my touch, and I guess she feels it too because her face blushes at the contact. I smile, and she does the same. I’m ready to close the distance, to let this moment be what it wants to be—
“Sunrise!” Haley’s voice pierces the silence, loud and clear from outside.
Sunrise? Already ? Have we really been talking all night? Emily and I freeze, inches apart, and I watch her eyes flutter open, a surprised laugh escaping her lips.
“We should probably watch the sunrise,” she whispers.
I nod, reluctant to let go of this moment but knowing that maybe it’s not about holding on so tightly. Maybe it’s about savoring it just as it is, knowing it’s part of something bigger, something still unfolding.
We put on our layers and get out of the tent, as we’re greeted by the freezing wind. I put my arm around Emily as we walk toward the edge where everyone else is. At this point, I don’t even think about doing it for show. All I know is that I want to be as close to her as possible.
There’s a fear inside me. A fear that disguises itself as attraction. For weeks, I’ve convinced myself that Emily was just an itch I had to scratch. But who am I kidding? Every single minute I spend with her is bliss, and every minute we spend apart is agony.
I sneak a glance at her as the sky shifts from dark blue to the faintest hint of pink. She’s watching the horizon, lost in her own thoughts, and I’m struck by a feeling I don’t quite know how to name. I want her here, beside me, not just for now but for whatever follows.
As the first light breaches the horizon, a soft, golden glow spreads across her face, illuminating her features in a way that’s almost surreal. She’s radiant, so much so that I can barely look away. The world around us could fade, and I wouldn’t notice. All I see is her, standing there, every inch of her wrapped in this quiet beauty that makes my chest ache.
“Wow,” she says, looking at the sunrise.
And in that moment, one simple thought fills my mind: She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. More beautiful than the sunrise. And I don’t just mean her face this time. I’ve seen her bare her heart. Her thoughts. Her struggles. I’ve seen all that she’s had to live with. And no sunrise can ever compare to that level of beauty.
“Yeah,” I say, in a voice that’s barely a whisper. “Wow.”
This terrifies me. Because nothing good has ever come easy, and I know deep down that if I fall for her—and maybe I’m already there—there won’t be any going back.
I don’t think I’ll be the same after her.
And honestly? I don’t think I want to be.