6. Melody
— ? —
Melody
The days after the restaurant find a rhythm I stop questioning.
Noah appears at breakfast without being invited.
We take the long-tail boat to an island whose name I keep mispronouncing until the captain gives up on me.
I finally use the phrasebook at a temple at dawn, and a monk laughs at my accent so kindly it doesn’t feel like laughing.
Some afternoons I don’t see Noah at all - he disappears into whatever “business interests” means, and I read by the pool and call Jessica and don’t cry, which still feels like news.
Then he resurfaces at dinner like the tide coming in.
A week in the resort goes by the way money does. In small, happy amounts, nothing to show for it but the lightness.
Which is how I end up on a jungle trail, sweating through my shirt.
The waterfall is a forty-minute hike from the resort.
“You said it was a short walk,” I pant, grabbing a vine to haul myself over a moss-covered boulder. “This is not a short walk. This is a death march.”
“I said it was worth it.” He’s already at the top of the boulder, extending his hand down to me with that infuriating grin. “There’s a difference.”
“I’m going to push you off a cliff.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m seriously considering it.”
His hand closes around mine, warm and strong, and he pulls me up beside him with an ease that makes my stomach flutter.
We’re both sweating through our clothes, the jungle humidity clinging to every inch of exposed skin, and I should feel disgusting.
Instead, I feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in years.
“Close your eyes,” Noah says.
“What? Why?”
“Because we’re almost there, and I want you to hear it before you see it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s either romantic or serial killer behavior. I can’t decide which.”
“Trust me.”
Two words. Simple. But they land somewhere deep in my chest, in a place that’s been locked up tight since I read those texts on Leo’s phone. Trust me. Such an easy thing to say. Such a terrifying thing to do.
I close my eyes.
Noah’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward. I can feel the heat of him through my thin hiking shirt, the steadiness of his touch as he steers me around obstacles I can’t see. Roots. Rocks. The uneven jungle floor that wants to send me sprawling.
“Step up,” he murmurs. “Now left. Little more. Perfect.”
The sound reaches me before anything else. A low roar that builds and builds, filling my ears, vibrating through my chest. Water. Massive amounts of water, crashing down from somewhere high above.
“Okay,” Noah says. “Open.”
I open my eyes, and my breath catches.
The waterfall is enormous. A hundred feet of white water thundering down a cliff face covered in ferns and flowering vines, crashing into a pool so clear I can see every stone on the bottom.
Mist rises from the impact, catching the morning light, throwing tiny rainbows across the rocks.
The air tastes like rain and green things and something ancient, something that was here long before humans and will be here long after we’re gone.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“Told you it was worth it.”
I turn to look at him, and he’s not watching the waterfall. He’s watching me. Watching my face the way someone watches a sunrise, like he wants to memorize every shift of light.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m more interesting than a hundred-foot waterfall.”
“You are more interesting than that.”
My cheeks flush, but I blame the heat. He reaches out and brushes a strand of sweaty hair from my forehead, his fingers lingering against my temple. “Want to swim?”
The pool looks impossibly inviting. Cool and clear and promising relief from the jungle heat that’s been pressing against my skin since we started hiking.
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“Neither did I.”
The implication hangs in the air between us. My heart rate kicks up a notch.
“That’s very forward of you, Mr. Carter.”
“I was thinking underwear. There is no one here.” His grin widens. “But if you had other ideas-”
“Mmm, let me think about it.” I shove his shoulder, laughing despite myself. “I would normally not do this. But at this point-”
“At this point?” he says, trying to hold a laugh.
“Underwear is fine. Turn around.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously, the one I have is kind of swimsuit material. But turn around.”
He makes a show of covering his eyes, turning his back to me with exaggerated formality. I strip off my hiking clothes as fast as I can, hyper-aware of his presence just a few feet away, the vulnerable feeling of bare skin in open air.
“Don’t peek.”
“I’m not peeking.”
“Your fingers are spread.”
“They are not.”
They absolutely are. I can see daylight between them. But I’m already down to my Victoria’s Secret white bra and underwear, so I do the only sensible thing - I run past him and launch myself into the pool.
The cold hits me like a slap, shocking and wonderful, driving every thought out of my head. I surface gasping, pushing wet hair out of my eyes, and find Noah standing at the edge of the pool in nothing but boxer briefs, looking down at me with an expression that makes my stomach flip.
“Cold?” he asks.
“Freezing. Get in here.”
He doesn’t jump. He wades in slowly, holding my gaze the whole time, and there’s something deliberate about it. Something that says he’s not going to rush this. Whatever this is.
The water comes up to his chest, up to his shoulders, then he’s in front of me, close enough to touch, drops of water clinging to his eyelashes.
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
His hands find my waist underwater, pulling me toward him. My legs wrap around his hips automatically, seeking warmth, and suddenly we’re tangled together in the middle of this impossible pool with a waterfall roaring behind us and nothing else in the world.
“Better?” he asks.
“Getting there.”
His thumb traces circles on my hip, the touch light enough to tickle. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, faster than it should be for someone standing still.
“I want to kiss you,” he says. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the bar. Since you looked at me with mascara running down your face and told me this was supposed to be your honeymoon.”
“That’s a weird thing to find attractive.”
“I didn’t find it attractive. I found it honest.” His hand slides up my back, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “You were so raw. So real. No performance. No pretense. Just you, falling apart and not caring who saw.”
“I was a mess.”
“I don’t care. You were beautiful.”
The word lands somewhere soft and unprotected. I duck my head, unable to meet his eyes.
“You don’t have to say things like that.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” His finger hooks under my chin, tilting my face back up. “I want you to know how I see you. Not the version you show everyone else. The real one. The one who’s scared and angry and trying so hard to hold it together.”
“I’m not trying to hold it together. I think I’ve pretty much fallen apart.”
“So fall apart and I’ll catch the pieces.”
I don’t know who moves first.
Maybe I lean in. Maybe he does. Maybe we both do, meeting in the middle the way we’ve been meeting in the middle since that first night at the bar.
His mouth is warm against mine, warmer than the cold water surrounding us. The kiss starts slow, careful, like we’re both afraid of breaking something fragile. But then my fingers find his hair, and his arm tightens around my waist, and the carefulness burns away.
He kisses me like he means it. Like I’m the only thing in the world worth kissing. Like every other kiss in his life was practice for this moment.
I kiss him back the same way.
We stay in the water until my lips are swollen and my skin is pruned and the sun has climbed high enough to burn the mist off the rocks.
We float on our backs and watch the clouds drift past the canopy above us.
We splash each other like children and laugh until our stomachs hurt.
We tread water face to face, foreheads touching, breathing the same air.
“I keep thinking about how strange this all is,” I say.
“Two weeks ago I was walking down the aisle. I was so sure about everything. My dress, my future, the man waiting for me at the altar. And now I’m swimming in underwear and kissing someone I barely know, and somehow this feels more real than any of that did. ”
Noah doesn’t say anything. He just watches me with those steady blue eyes, waiting for the rest.
“The thing is,” I continue, “even with everything that’s happened - the cheating, the lies, seeing him with her at that restaurant - the pain isn’t what I expected.
It’s not this devastating heartbreak. It’s more like...
” I search for the right word. “Relief. Like I’ve been holding my breath for four years and I finally get to exhale. ”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it? Because it feels like something’s wrong with me. My marriage just imploded. I should be devastated. I should be crying into my pillow every night.”
“Who says?”
“Everyone. Every movie, every book, every well-meaning friend who’s ever gone through a breakup.” I shake my head. “But I’m not devastated. I’m just... tired. And a little angry. And mostly just done waiting for him to agree to sign those divorce papers.”
Noah reaches out and touches my cheek, just the tips of his fingers against my skin, and my pulse stutters. The contact sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the breeze.
“Maybe you already mourned the marriage,” he says. “Before you even knew it was over. Maybe some part of you knew things weren’t right, and you’ve been grieving for a long time without realizing it.”
I stare at him. The insight lands somewhere deep in my chest, settling into place like a puzzle piece I didn’t know was missing.
“When did you get so wise?”