Chapter 87 Jordan
JORDAN
The next morning, Tate is curled around me, chest rising and falling with his steady breathing, skin warm, and the weight of his arm over me, clutching me to him.
Even with my eyes closed, I sense the June morning light streaming in through the open windows.
The gentle sounds of the shore, the birds chirping in the forest. A woodpecker, somewhere.
Tate’s clean, masculine scent. The familiar smell of the summer house.
This moment is such intense comfort, such an intense feeling of right.
With him, I’m home.
He shifts with a low groan, a hard length pressing against my backside, and heat pools between my legs.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
“Morning, honey.” Whether from him calling me that or the sleepy, delicious edge to his voice, I don’t know, but I melt against him a little more.
“How’d you sleep?” I back my hips up, pressing against him.
He groans again, frustrated this time, tilting his hips to meet mine, and his breath hitches as he grinds against me. “I think you know the answer to that.”
He squints out the window, expression changing as he props himself up.
“Jesus. That view.” He shakes his head in awe at the sparkling water. “This place is heaven.”
It means something, that he loves it here. I don’t know what’s in store for us and I don’t have everything figured out, but it makes me feel closer to him, his being happy here.
“Let’s go for a swim,” he says, studying the water.
I make an are you crazy face. “The water’s going to be freezing.”
“Nah.” His eyes spark with amusement. “It’s June.”
“In Canada.”
“Look how pretty it is.”
He’s messing with me. He’s laughing now and I am, too. “I’m telling you, Tate. I know from experience.”
“Only one way to find out.” He slides out of bed and gives me an expectant look while I blink back at him with an indignant smile.
“Go for it.”
He stares at me, eyes sparkling like the water outside.
“Tate.”
He keeps staring at me, smiling.
“No.” He smiles wider and I pull the pillow over my head. “I’m going back to sleep.”
Ten minutes later, I sit on the dock in the mild morning sun, wrapped in the duvet and sipping coffee from the old chipped mug that was my mom’s favorite. The water is calm, a pair of ducks paddle past the dock, and there’s a breeze off the water. My breakfast is a pack of Dunkaroos.
“What’s that smile?” Tate asks at my side.
“I miss my mom,” I admit, and his gaze stays on me, so gentle and patient. “But I feel close to her here.”
He makes a pleased humming noise. She’d love Tate. I know that much.
“Alright, J-dawg.” Tate pulls his shirt over his head, the muscles of his chest and biceps rippling with the motion. “Enough dillydallying.”
“Wow.” I wolf-whistle, eyes on his abs, following the trickle of hair into the waistband of his shorts. “Good morning, indeed.”
He winks, tosses his shirt aside, and in just his swim shorts and bare feet, executes a perfect dive into the water, surfacing twenty feet away.
“Were you on the diving team in high school?” I call over. “In the offseason?”
“Nope.” He shakes water out of his hair. “Just naturally athletic. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll get a chance to see me kick your ass at bocce ball later.”
I smile like a dumbass. “You’re really cocky lately, you know that?”
And sillier. More light-hearted. He needed this vacation, I realize.
“Is it cold?” I ask.
“Not at all,” he calls back.
“Liar.”
He treads water easily. “Very refreshing. Why don’t you join me?”
“Ha. No. I’ll just enjoy the view. Besides, I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a problem.” He swims closer. “Come on, Jordan. It’ll wake you up.” His smile is teasing and flirtatious, so fucking handsome, and butterflies take flight inside me. “Maybe put you in a better mood. Cold plunges are great for your health.”
“I’m good. My mood is great this morning.”
He swims to the ladder at the side of the dock and climbs out, droplets running off his broad, carved chest. A wicked gleam flares in his eyes.
“Tate.” I scramble back, laughing deliriously, but he’s too fast, arms coming beneath me. “Tate.”
He lifts me in the air, grinning as he yanks the duvet off. “You’re going to want to keep that dry for later.”
“I want to stay dry for later.” I can barely breathe, I’m giggling so hard, kicking and fighting him off.
Who am I? I don’t giggle. I’m supposed to be like Wednesday Addams, cynical and bored.
I break off on a shriek as he throws me into the water like I weigh nothing, and I hit the surface with a splash, the cold water like tiny knives.
“It’s fucking cold!” I yell when I surface, and he laughs from the dock. I think I’m laughing, too. “You asshole.”
“Oh, Jordan.” He shakes his head with a fond smile. “I love it when you get mad like that.”
“I hope you have your will up to date, because I’m going to kill you.” I swim to the ladder. “And I’m taking the guesthouse.”
He leaps into the air and does a cannonball, splashing icy water all over me as I’m halfway up the ladder. Before I can react, though, his big hands come to my waist and I’m hauled back into the water.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs, arranging my legs around his hips.
He presses me against the dock, and even through my shorts and tank top, I can feel his warmth.
My arms slide around his neck. “Inside, where I won’t die from hypothermia.”
He slips his hands beneath my shorts, palming my ass, and god, his hands are so warm.
“Poor Jordan,” he murmurs, bringing his mouth to mine, nipping my bottom lip, my jaw, my neck. “Let’s make out. That’ll warm you up.”
His mouth returns to mine and I smile against it.
“What’s gotten into you? You’re . . .” He’s kissing my neck again, and I don’t feel cold or annoyed or anything except his lips on my skin and his warm hands slipping closer to where I need him at the apex of my thighs.
“Lighter. Sillier.” I hesitate. “Happier.”
It’s probably being away from it all, from all his responsibilities and pressure. It’s the fresh air and sunlight and sleeping in a new place. It’s the summer house.
My dumb little heart hopes it’s me, though.
With sharp, stunning clarity, I realize I’m fully in love with Tate Ward.
I’m not falling, I’ve fallen. I can’t imagine a life without him and Bea. With them, I feel complete, like they’re what I’ve been searching for my entire life.
Like we all belong together.
He makes a low humming noise, pulling back to look into my eyes, a little smile on his lips. “I am happier here. With you.”
I press my lips together and he smiles before kissing me again.
Another realization loops through me, full of energy and intensity. My mom would want this for me. She’d love this for me. She’d tell me to be brave and jump into the cold water with both feet.
My father’s regrets replay in my head. He shared them so I could learn from his mistakes.
I want this forever. This, with Tate. This, sitting at my mom’s summer house, watching the sunset with his arm around me and his lips on my temple. Maybe with Bea sleeping inside. In the morning, Tate would make pancakes while Bea and I sit on the dock. Maybe she’d play her guitar.
My heart does a flutter of anticipation. If he doesn’t love me back, if he reminds me firmly that we had a deal until the end of the season, I’ll just—I don’t know.
I’ll be humiliated. Deeply disappointed. Devastated and lost. But if I don’t tell him, I’ll regret it forever, so for Tate and Bea, I’ll be brave.
I just have to figure out how. And when.
He kisses me again, deeper, before he pulls himself back, takes a deep breath, and hauls me up the ladder.
“Come on.” He takes my hand. “Let’s get you warmed up, and then I’ll make you breakfast.”