Eden
eden
. . .
T he sun is barely up over Malibu, still stretching gold wisps over the foamy waves, when I pull open the curtains in my bedroom and smile.
Today’s the day.
Rush is taking me out—on a real date—not just snowboarding, not surfing, not sitting by a fire pit with the fam watching us, but a full-on, just-us date. I’ve only been home a week, but I’ve counted every second until he could get here.
He’s flying in from Vermont, where he’s been going to school, this morning, landing at the Van Nuys airport in a couple of hours. My stomach flutters just thinking about seeing him again. It’s the kind of flutter that makes your whole body feel electric, like you could launch yourself into the biggest wave and trust the ocean to guide you out.
I pull on a white tank that ties at the waist and red shorts, hoping to give off a flirty beach vibe. This is my going-out-in-public look; unless we’re going to some fancy restaurant, then my dad will make me wear a dress or some nice pants. I’d rather be in a swimsuit or lounging in oversized sweats and a sweatshirt—as long as they’re Rush’s. I never understood my friends' desire to wear their boyfriend’s loungewear until I had a boyfriend.
Standing in the mirror, I hold my perpetually salty waves up in a high ponytail and make kissy faces at myself before letting my hair fall. I can’t decide if I should wear my hair up or down. Up is nice because it’s sticking hot outside, but if I let it down, Rush can play with it later. And I really like it when he touches my hair.
“Down it is,” I say as I begin applying a light coat of eyeshadow to my eyelids. I add highlighter and mascara but forgo the other necessities like bronzer and foundation. I’m already tan enough despite using the highest SPF sunblock when I’m outside. At least I’m not burning. That’s my mum’s biggest fear. Ever since I can remember, she’s lathered me in sunblock to protect my skin.
I add gold hoops and a little bit of raspberry lip gloss, which is Rush’s favorite. After a quick turn, I declare myself ready for our date. It’s been two months since we’ve seen each other, and in my opinion, that is far too long. FaceTiming is not the same as being able to hug, kiss and, well do other things that I’m sure my dad would lecture me on, but I know he, for sure, was doing at my age.
By the time Rush texts me that he’s ten minutes away, I’m standing at the end of our gated driveway, barefoot on the warm concrete, nervous energy bouncing inside me like I’ve downed six Red Bulls.
Then I see a car coming down the road with a neon sign in the window: Uber. My heart races at the thought of Rush being in the backseat of this car. My hands clasp together as it slows, and I swear I’m about to pass out at how long it takes for the driver to pull over and the back door to open.
As soon as it does, I’m on my toes, trying to see Rush’s dark curly hair. He keeps it shaggy and flowy, as others would say. I don’t care what his hairstyle is called; I love running my fingers through his hair. It’s silky, soft, and simply perfect in my mind.
Finally, Rush emerges from the backseat.
Oh.
My.
God.
The past two months of video chats haven’t done him justice.
Messy hair. Black joggers. A fitted T-shirt that hugs every single muscle like it was made to ruin me. His eyes find mine, and suddenly the world narrows to just him.
He’s here. At my house. Staying with me for a week. Yes, he’ll be in another room at night, and probably under the watchful eye of my guard dog, Jimmy (aka my father), but I don’t care because I’m going to have Rush here, and he’ll be here for my birthday.
“You’re barefoot,” he says with a grin, like it’s the best thing he’s seen all day.
“You’re overdressed,” I tease, running into his arms. This is a joke between us, considering our professions. He’s always dressed head to toe, with barely any skin visible due to the harsh elements he works in. When I’m surfing, I wear a swimsuit. Rush and I are so entirely opposite, yet perfect for each other. Unlike some of our friends, we’re not in competition with each other and can be at each other’s events, supporting one another.
Rush wraps me up like he’s never letting go, lifting me a few inches off the ground. My legs go around his waist. His mouth finds my cheek, my neck, and I laugh because he can’t stop kissing me, and I never want him to. There isn’t a doubt in my mind my dad is trying to watch on our security camera just so he can give Rush a hard time, but knowing my mum, she’s told him to stop.
“I’m so damn happy you’re here and my parents said you could stay.”
“God, I missed you,” he breathes against my ear. “I mean, I missed you. Like… all the seconds in between.”
I pull back and raise a brow. “Are you trying to be romantic?” If so, this is a new side of Rush, and I think I like it.
He shrugs, eyes glowing. “You bring this out in me, Eden.”
I press my lips to his and kiss him deeply. Once I’m eighteen and I can travel to events by myself, I fully intend to have Rush meet me places.
“Come on,” I say, slipping my hand into his. “Let’s get out of here before my dad comes outside and reminds you about ‘treating me like a lady.’”
“Too late,” Rush mutters, eyeing the house. “I think I saw a curtain move.”
“Cool. Then let’s go. Fast.”
I know I should take him inside and let him say hi to my parents, but I want him all to myself. Mum and Dad will have their time with Rush.
He leaves his bags in the garage and hops into my pink customized Jeep Wrangler. The top is off, along with the doors. We buckle up, and then I pull out of the driveway and head away from the prying eyes of my parents.
Rush takes my phone and sets a playlist, turning the music up so we can hear it over the wind and traffic. He stares out toward the water and reaches for my hand, pressing his lips to it.
At the stoplight, I look at him, watching him in my element. This isn’t his first time here, but it’s the first time he’s staying with me. The other times he’s been here, he’s rented a hotel room or brought Boomer with him. This time, it’s just us.
“I’m so happy you’re here.”
Rush looks my way. His smile is perfect, inviting. He leans over and kisses me.
I’m in love with him. I think I’ve been in love with him since the day I met him on the mountain. He didn’t care who I was and has never treated me like I’m JD’s kid. He’s treated me like Eden Davis, and that has been so important to me. We’re both destined to be famous in our own right: him with snowboarding and me with surfing.
We drive into town, ready to get breakfast. Malibu Farms is on the pier. It’s casual and cute, with an ocean breeze, and they serve fresh fruit on their pancakes. It’s one of my favorite places, his too. But as soon as we turn into the lot, the real world slaps us in the face as we spot two blacked-out SUVs and three men with very large camera lenses waiting on the boardwalk.
“Seriously?” I mutter.
Rush glances at me. “I wonder who’s here?”
“Don’t know, but they know who we are now.” I know I could change what I drive, but why should I have to be someone I don’t want to be when the photographers should leave us alone? I don’t even want to know what the headline will be later.
I contemplate driving to another restaurant, but I had my heart set on this one. Rush and I have eaten here before, and we really like it. The other times we’ve been here, or together even, the paparazzi haven’t been around. It’s been nice. I’ve been able to keep Rush all to myself.
Until now.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I look at him. He just looks at me, with his lips turned up and his eyes sparkling. Does he really not care about the intrusion? “Welcome to dating Eden Davis. Now you get to be followed, photographed, and probably accused of impregnating me on the beach.”
Rush laughs. “It’s rare someone snaps a picture of me when I’m out and about. No one really cares in Vermont.”
“They’re gonna care here because of my dad.”
“As long as he doesn’t suspect me of impregnating you on the beach, I’ll deal with it.”
“Thank you.”
“Has it always been like this?”
I glance at the photographers who are trying to act coy, but they stand out so much. “Ever since I was twelve and someone snapped a picture of me crying at the beach. They called me ‘Tragic Little Surfer Girl.’ The article was titled Swells and Sobs. My parents issued a statement asking that I be left alone, but once I hit the circuit, all bets were off. I’m fair game. You will be too.”
“Jesus. Why were you crying?”
“Because I got stung by a jellyfish and it freaking hurt.”
“I’m sort of glad I wear a helmet so they can’t see my face when I do something stupid like fall or slip out of the top three. The visor is a godsend.”
“Yeah, I’m not so lucky. People eat that crap up, ya know. The tears and facial expressions. They love labeling us as having a bad day and whatnot.” I exhale and put my Jeep into reverse. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
He hesitates. “But we love this place!”
“I know, but I don’t want to stuff food into my mouth with these assholes watching. Come on, let’s ditch the city. I’ll place an order for some food, we’ll pick it up and drive to the canyon.”
“You’re the driver. I’m just along for the ride.” Rush flips the photographers off as I drive away, both of us laughing.
We end up in Topanga Canyon twenty minutes later, parked beside a little trailhead behind a local smoothie shack I swear no one outside of Malibu even knows exists, with an assortment of pastries. It smells like sage and wildflowers. The air is warm and sticky with sea salt and dust.
Luckily for us, I have some necessities under the backseat of my Jeep. Rush grabs the blanket I have stowed and drapes it over his arm, then grabs my hand after I change out of my flip-flops and into sneakers. We hike—well, it’s more like walking with purpose—up a winding trail that leads to one of my secret spots: a flat overlook tucked into the hillside with a single bench and a panoramic view of the Pacific. No cameras. No people. Just birdsong, a breeze, and the low hum of bees in the wild fennel.
He turns in a slow circle when we reach the top. “Okay… yeah. This is perfect.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not freaking out when you saw the cameras.”
Rush shrugs and drops the blanket. I help him spread it out and then sit, taking the food out I ordered. “If I freak out now, they win. Besides…” He sits close, eyes locked on mine. “I’m not scared of a few headlines.”
“No?”
“No. Not when I have you.”
He kisses me, and it’s slow. It’s tender. It’s deep.
I melt into it.
The kiss grows hotter, heavier, and when I slide my fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop me.
“I thought we were here for a breakfast,” he murmurs against my lips.
I smirk. “You’re my breakfast.”
His breath hitches as I pull his shirt over his head and run my palms over his chest. “Eden…”
“Rush.”
“I love you.”
I blink.
The world goes still.
He said it.
He said, "I love you."
I don’t hesitate.
“I love you too.”
The words taste like summer and freedom and forever. I kiss him again, this time deeper, with every ounce of fire I’ve been holding in since he stepped out of the car. I close my eyes, breathing in his scent and letting the sound of the wind fill the silence between us.