32. Angela
32
ANGELA
The day after I pick up the extra shift, Carter texts me bright and early asking if I want to hang out tonight. Since I have the day off, I tell him yes.
Great. Meet me at Point Beach at 6:30 p.m. Eat beforehand.
What? You’re not feeding me again?
I’ve got something much better than mere dinner planned for you, Angel.
Give me a hint?
Nope. You’ll have to wait and see.
As I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, I try to avoid obsessing over what Carter has planned. A walk on the beach seems too simple. And it won’t be dark enough yet to stargaze. Maybe he wants to go skinny dipping, like we did the first night we hooked up, all those years ago.
After the other night, I’m aching for more of him. For all of him. And for once, I’m not worried about what will happen after we have sex. Normally at this point in a relationship, all my defenses would be up, and I’d be preparing myself for the breakup. But Carter has made every time we’ve hooked up about my pleasure, first and foremost, and he’s clearly still interested.
I shake off the tiny, lingering doubts in the back of my mind that say I thought that last time, seven long years ago. Because if I’m going to keep dating Carter, then I need to at least try to trust him.
With that conviction in mind, I make the rest of the day productive. I clean my whole house, do laundry, and then go to the art supply store in town. I pick up a new set of paints, a sketch book, canvases, and brushes. I also grab a small pack of oil pastels just to try them out. I haven’t done any art in years, and I feel like trying something new.
After, I spend a ridiculously long time getting ready for my date. I wash and style my hair, luxuriating in the feel of being able to put hair products in it and define my curls. I still don’t feel recovered from going multiple days without shampoo, conditioner, and hair gel while on Isle North. I shave my legs, paint my fingers and toes, and meticulously apply makeup.
I agonize over an outfit for nearly an hour. If we’re going to be on the beach, then I can’t be dressed too skimpily because it gets chilly by the water. I settle on a lightweight sweater in cream, jeans, and a pair of sneakers that are cute while still being comfy. Point Beach is rocky rather than sandy. A beach for a scenic walk, rather than a dip in the water. With that in mind, I decide to bring a jacket as well.
When I get to the beach, Carter’s car is already parked right in front, and I pull in next to him. He doesn’t notice me at first, because his gaze is fixed on the ocean. It reminds me that one of my favorite things about Harborview is the fact that locals will drive to the ocean just to stare at it for a few minutes, as if they simply wanted to say hello.
I get out of the car and tap on his window. He turns and a smile lights up his face when he sees me, an expression I’m not sure I’ve seen him make for anyone else. It’s unguarded and honest, no calculation or control to be seen.
Carter gets out of his car and immediately pulls me in for a hug, his fingers pressing into my hips. I nestle my head into his neck and breathe him in as subtly as I can manage. Carter always smells amazing, and something about his woodsy scent always gives me butterflies.
I pull back, but he doesn’t let go, and I’m left staring into his eyes—hazel flecked with green and gold, and as unguarded as his face was a moment ago. They are filled to the brim with joy, and something softer that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s rare to see him like this, with all his walls down, and I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.
But I feel myself start to tumble headfirst into those eyes, and only the tiniest breath of fear follows me as I do.
“Hey,” he says, tucking a loose curl behind my ear.
“Hi.”
He tips my chin upward and studies me for a moment.
“Cataloging?” I ask.
“I don’t want to forget anything. Any single moment. I want them all,” he says, gaze moving over me.
And then he leans in and kisses me, his lips just brushing mine. He starts to pull away, but I reach out and haul him closer, deepening the kiss. Carter’s hands roam my hips and ass as my tongue strokes into his mouth, and he lets out a low, guttural noise.
“You keep that up Angel and I’m worried we won’t make it to the surprise part of the evening,” he says.
“Speak for yourself,” I say, pulling away. “I’m perfectly fine.”
I’m also a liar.
“Sure, sure,” he says. “Totally unaffected, I can tell.” He brushes a thumb along my cheek, which I’m sure is flushed.
We untangle our limbs and then walk hand in hand over to the beach. Carter heads in the direction of the lighthouse, which is perched on the cliffs above Point Beach that jut out into the ocean. We must be going on a scenic sunset walk, and I bet Carter has a blanket and snacks in the backpack he’s carrying.
We walk along the rocky beach in silence for a few moments, absorbing the natural beauty around us. I haven’t been to Point Beach much since moving back, and I forgot how stunning it is. High cliffs crowned with pine forests rise above a beach dotted with rocks, and the ocean laps gently at the shore. It’s a much more wild beauty than that of the sandier beaches like Inlet and Huddle’s Cove. It’s peaceful here, too, so quiet that I almost feel like we’re back on Isle North together.
Carter must be thinking the same exact thing, because he tells me, “I’m grateful we got stranded on Isle North.”
“I never thought I’d say this after being so desperate to escape that island while we were on it, but…I’m grateful too, Carter. I’m grateful for all of this. I know I haven’t been the best at telling you things like that,” I admit.
Carter stops and pulls me towards him. “You don’t have to tell me a damn thing, Angel. Not before you’re ready to. Being here with you is all that matters to me.”
We walk the rest of the way down the beach until we reach the end, where the cliffs curve out into the sea. Point Lighthouse is small and squat, but somehow still charming with its chipped red and white paint and its bell shaped cupola.
I walk over to get a better look up at it, tracing the lines with my eyes and promising myself that it will be the first thing I paint.
When I turn around, I see that Carter has laid a picnic blanket down on a sandy part of the beach. And on top of it, he’s set up a small folding easel, a pad of paper, and a vibrant set of oil pastels.
“Carter,” I say, and he looks up from where he’s fiddling with the easel.
“Is it alright? I know you wanted to get back into painting but that seemed complicated for the beach so I thought pastels might be better.” He looks truly concerned, like he actually thinks I might not enjoy this.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
And I mean it. Because this took a lot of planning on Carter’s part. And what’s more, it shows how much he genuinely cares about me. Not just as a one-week fling, not just as a high school crush. He really, truly cares about me.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, because I can already feel my hands itching to try out the pastels. I don’t know if what I’ll do today will be any good, but I don’t even care.
Carter reaches into his bag again and this time comes up with binoculars.
“I’m going to hike up into the cliffs and do some bird watching before the sun sets completely. I might get lucky and see some of the ospreys that nest around here.”
Carter heads up onto the rocky cliffs, making his way up like a pro. I settle myself on the picnic blanket, finding a bottle of water and, as I suspected, plenty of snacks. The sky is just starting to turn pink as the sun sets, and I decide that’s the first thing I want to try and capture.
Because I haven’t worked much in pastels, it takes me a few tries to get a feel for the medium, and I can’t say that I’m completely adept at it. But eventually I figure out how to blend the pastels together correctly for the sky and the sea, and I sketch out the lighthouse with a pencil.
I feel the scene start to come alive on the page—the dark gray blue of the ocean, the pop of red of the lighthouse against the dark cliffs, the green of the pines, and the orange and pink of the sunset that casts all of the colors in a hazy glow. By the time I see Carter start to make his way down from the cliffs forty-five minutes later, the sky is a deep orange and the sun nearly gone. I worked quickly and it’s far from perfect, but it’s the first piece of art I’ve created in years. I can’t help but be proud of it.
“It’s beautiful, Angela,” Carter says as he comes up behind me.
“Thank you. I’m new to oil pastels but I think I’m getting the hang of it. Did you see anything good up there?”
“A pair of ospreys were building their nest. And I saw some gulls.” He sits down behind me on the blanket and folds me into his body.
“Carter,” I start. “I can’t—I don’t think I can adequately express how wonderful this was. I appreciate it—how hard you’re trying to make me happy. And I forgive you for all those years ago.” As I say this, I can feel the truth of it in my bones, as surely as I feel the sand under my toes.
“I wasn’t ready back then,” he says. “I never really explained it to you, but that’s all it was. It had nothing to do with you, and it was all my immaturity and idiocy. I was scared to lose you, so I didn’t even try. I wanted something real with you, and I think I knew that we were too young for it. Because even then, even when we were just kids…” His voice starts to crack and he tightens his arms around me. “Even then, I knew that you were the love of my life. The only person I would ever feel this way about. And I still—I still love you, Angel.”
I turn to look at him and see that his expression is somber and focused. Something inside of me finally unlocks, as the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place. I never thought about it like that—that he walked away because he was scared. Because he realized that the thing between us was bigger and more important than we were ready for at twenty. It doesn’t change what he did. But knowing why allows me to finally let myself feel everything for him that I’ve been holding back.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever felt that way about, too.” I tell him softly. “And I still feel it.”
Admitting something so big almost hurts to say, and fear washes through me at being so vulnerable. I guess that makes sense, because he’s the person who could hurt me the most. But it’s important, I think, that he knows that he’s the only person for me, too. That he hasn’t been alone in longing for there to be an us again.
“God, Angela, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that. How long I’ve waited to tell you all of that,” Carter says.
He places a kiss on the side of my face, and I lean my head back against his shoulder, melting into his warmth. I want his mouth on mine, though, and from this angle I can’t reach him. I move from between his legs.
“Lay down,” I tell him.
“I like it when you tell me what to do,” he says.
He lays back onto the blanket, and I crawl over to him and straddle him, leaning in so I can kiss him gently, right there on the mouth that just uttered the words “I love you.”
“I like it when you do that even more,” he says after I break the kiss.
And then we’re devouring each other, my lips parting for his and his tongue sweeping through my mouth. This kiss feels more raw and vulnerable than any other we’ve shared, as open and honest as the words we just exchanged.
Carter’s lips against mine have me shifting my weight so that it’s fully pressed against him, rocking my hips against his, heat building in my core.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him, feeling him grow hard and thick through the layers of our clothes.
“Here?” he asks.
“Here,” I confirm. Because the beach is deserted and quiet and we’re protected from the sand by the blanket, and it feels right. But mostly I just don’t want to wait any longer. I want him right now, and forever.
Carter lifts my sweater off of me, and I undo my bra as he rips his own shirt off. We hastily take everything else off, laughing as we do, both caught up in the joy of this moment and how badly we both want this. I press against him, luxuriating in the feel of his bare skin against mine, in the fact that I have him, that he’s here for good.
“I want your pussy, Angel,” he tells me, dragging my hips down so that they’re flush against his, the head of his cock nudging against my clit.
We briefly discuss birth control, and I tell him that I have an IUD, and we agree that since neither one of us has had sex in a few years, that we’re safe.
“I want to see how wet you are for me,” he says, rolling his hips so that his cock strokes over my clit again and again. “Fucking soaked,” he says, groaning. “I’ve dreamed about having my cock inside you like this again so many times.”
I try to respond, but all I can do is cry out as he replaces his cock with his fingers, slowly rubbing my clit with his thumb in small circles.
“Fuck, Carter, that’s so good,” I say as he increases the pressure and speed. I feel the orgasm start to build inside of me, but as it does, Carter removes his fingers.
“I want to watch you come on my cock,” he says, meeting my eyes.
I nod, and then he moves so that his cock presses against me once more, the tip nudging inside of me. I move my hips, and slowly take the rest of him inside myself, moaning at the feel of him.
Neither of us move for a moment, as I adjust to the length and feel of him. And then I lean back and start to ride him, in slow, long strokes. Carter tips his head back and closes his eyes, and I can tell he’s enjoying this, that he’s clinging on for dear life, trying to last.
“Is that good?” I ask.
“It feels fucking perfect. You’re so wet and tight for me, Angel. I love it.”
I blush under the praise, and move my hips faster, and he meets my thrusts with his own, fucking me hard and deep. He starts rubbing me gently with his fingers again, around and around as his cock thrusts into me from below. The dual sensation nearly sends me over the edge.
I start to come, grinding my hips into his hand and his cock, my moans and cries swallowed by the wind as the pleasure races through me. Carter groans as his own release barrels through him, his hips jerking wildly as he comes inside me.
I collapse against him, boneless and happy, utterly relaxed and spent. He rolls us over and wraps his arms and legs around me, cocooning me against his chest.
“It’s really fucking cold,” I say, shivering despite his warmth.
A laugh shakes his chest. “It really fucking is. I’m surprised my balls haven’t fallen off.”
“I’m sure we aren’t the first couple to fuck at Point Beach, and we won’t be the last.”
“Rating out of five?”
“Five stars for the sex. One star for the temperature.”
“Let’s get you home,” he tells me.
We dress quickly, pack up the art supplies and snacks, and head back up the beach and to the parking lot.
“Want to stay over?” he asks. “We don’t have to share the same bed if you don’t want to, but I thought a sleepover could be fun.”
“Definitely,” I say, and watch as another smile lights up his face.