Chapter 15 #2
Today showed me that. The way he handles things. The way he processes life. The way he talks about God like He’s real and present and guiding every step.
What do I even do with that?
I feel slightly taken aback, like my heart and my mind are scrambling to keep up with each other. I don’t know how to process it all at once.
Because if this is real… it changes everything.
If he really is the man I prayed for, the one I asked God about in quiet moments when no one else was listening… then my whole world might flip on its axis. In the very best way. And also in a slightly terrifying way.
Because it’s only day two.
But sometimes God moves in an instant.
And that’s terrifying too, because it means I don’t actually know what my future holds. Anything I thought would happen might not. I only came here for a short visit. I was supposed to go back to Belgium, back to the life I already had mapped out in my head.
And now there’s this question sitting quietly but persistently in my heart:
Do I go back to Belgium… or do I see this through?
Right then, our waiter arrives with the food, unknowingly interrupting what feels like a life-altering internal spiral.
“Oh wow,” I exhale as my plate is set down in front of me.
I went with the shrimp risotto in the end—and it’s served inside a hollowed-out pineapple, beautifully presented like a piece of art I think is almost too pretty to eat.
Nate’s dish is placed in front of him next, a steak literally in flames.
He laughs. “That’s pretty impressive.”
Then his eyes grow serious again, locking onto mine with that steady, grounded look of his. “Let’s pray about it. I don’t know what the future holds. But let’s enjoy the rest of our night and pray about it overnight?”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath and slowly let it out. It’s a lot to take in. A lot to process. But right now, I know one thing very clearly—I’m enjoying his company, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“Sounds perfect,” I reply, finally digging into my food.
“What about dessert?” Nate asks later. “What’s your favorite?”
“How can I ever decide? Dessert is only the best meal of the day,” I state confidently.
“Oh, is that a fact?” A grin tugs at his lips.
“A truth if I ever heard one about food,” I say, shrugging, my smile already giving me away.
“You want to order something?”
“I already had a look.” My smile turns mischievous.
“You have to see the dessert menu first, don’t you?” he teases.
I giggle. “The passion fruit mousse is calling my name today.”
“I would say let’s share, but I think I’d be crossing into enemy territory.”
“And you’d be right,” I say solemnly. “Unless you get one yourself. Then I’d be happy to share. Because I, of course, would want to try some of yours. It’s only fair.”
He nods like this is a very reasonable negotiation. “Of course.”
The night has fully settled now, the cooler air curling around me like a gentle reminder that time is passing whether I want it to or not. Everything is bathed in the warm glow of tiki torches and fairy lights, the flickering light reflecting the warmth that’s settled between us tonight.
Our desserts arrive almost immediately—the passion fruit mousse and a slice of brigadeiro cake. The scents drift up toward me and I swear I can practically see them, like in the movies, swirling dramatically up my nostrils as if they know they’re about to change my life.
I take a bite of the mousse, and the moment it hits my tongue, it’s like my mouth has decided to break into song. A burst of tangy citrus followed by a creamy smoothness that melts instantly. It’s a whole orchestra of flavor notes playing at once.
I can’t help the little noise of delight that escapes me.
“Wow, that must be a good mousse there,” he says, trying—and failing—to hide his laughter.
“It’s unreal,” I exhale. “You have to try some. It’s too good to not share.”
“I’d love to, but I think you need to try this cake first.” He smiles, scooping up a bite and holding it out toward me.
He brings the spoon to my lips, and I let him feed me a bite, my heart doing something strange and fluttery that I pretend not to notice.
“You’ve got a little something, here,” he says, pointing near my mouth. He leans forward slightly, his fingers brushing beside my lips to wipe it away.
The touch is brief, gentle… and somehow feels like it leaves a branded mark on my skin long after his hand is gone.
The cake is delicious.
But not nearly as delicious as his hand brushing my face.
The moment feels charged, almost suspended in the air between us. For a split second, it feels like everything could tip forward into a kiss if neither of us moves.
I break the moment, though. Not abruptly. Just enough to reset the balance.
I don’t want our first kiss to happen casually, while we’re sitting at a dinner table with half-eaten dessert between us. Something about that feels too rushed, too unintentional for something that could mean so much.
But I do want to be kissed.
The thought of his lips on mine ignites something in me I’ve never felt before—warm, electric, and a little terrifying all at once.
Would a kiss help me make my decision? Whether I stay and explore this… or go back to the life I thought I was supposed to live?
Or would it only tangle my heart even more?
All I know is that the possibility of it lingers in the air between us, just out of reach, making everything feel brighter, deeper, and somehow more real than it did an hour ago.
And that the thought of his lips on mine ignites me in a way I’ve never felt.
The warm glow of the restaurant still trails behind us as we make our way toward the water, like the evening itself isn’t quite ready to let us go yet.
The waves lap steadily along the shore, and the sand beneath my toes is no longer warm from the day’s sun, but cool and soft instead.
My sandals dangle from one hand, swaying with each step, while the breeze brushes lightly against my skin—still gentle, but carrying the faint hint of the night settling in.
The air has shifted from balmy to just slightly cooler, enough to make me aware of it without making me shiver.
The moon hangs high above us, casting ribbons of silver light across the water that ripple and stretch every time the tide moves.
I’ve rolled up my linen pants so I can walk closer to the edge, letting the waves chase my feet every few steps.
As we begin to walk, Nate reaches for my hand again. This time, it feels almost natural. Familiar, even. But because it’s still so new, there’s a thrill to it that sends a quiet flutter through my chest.
I glance over at him, and he looks back at me with that steady smile of his.
And then—suddenly—it turns mischievous.
Uh oh.
He gives a quick tug on my arm, and the moment a wave washes up near our feet, he immediately splashes me.
“You did not,” I say flatly, my expression turning completely serious in an instant.
His smile drops just as fast, panic flashing across his face. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry,” he says quickly, looking genuinely sheepish.
I hold the serious look for exactly half a second longer.
“This. Means. War.” My grin explodes across my face as I launch into action, splashing him back with zero hesitation.
He clearly forgot one very important detail about me: I have a lot of siblings… and we are extremely competitive.
His laugh echoes out into the night as he tries—and very much fails—to match my splashing skills.
I tap into years of childhood experience, memories of beach days and pool battles with my siblings flooding back as I experiment with new angles and tactics like this is an Olympic sport and I fully intend to win gold.
I splash with my hands. With my feet. With an impressive level of strategic force.
Water flies everywhere.
“Mercy, mercy!” he laughs, throwing one hand up in surrender while trying to shield himself with the other.
I pause just long enough to assess my victory.
The bottom of his pants are completely soaked, splash marks dotting the rest of him like evidence of my undeniable win. Meanwhile, I’ve escaped relatively unscathed—just a few scattered droplets above my rolled-up linen pants.
I grin.
He takes a step closer, closing the gap between us, and I immediately tense, ready to spring into round two at any moment.
But instead of splashing me back…
He grabs my waist and pulls me in close.
My breath hitches instantly. Every playful thought disappears from my mind like someone switched off a light. Every cell in my body feels suddenly, acutely awake.
“I should’ve realized you’d be competitive,” he chuckles softly, his hand tightening slightly at my waist.
But my mind has gone completely blank, so all that comes out is a breathy, “Yeah.”
His eyes drift down to my lips as the breeze wraps around us again, cooler now, almost like the night itself is holding its breath with me. He pulls me just a fraction closer, until there’s barely any space left between us.
My hands rest against his chest at first, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Then one of them slides upward almost on its own, curling gently around the back of his neck.
My head feels like it’s swimming.
His cologne fills my senses in a way that feels oddly permanent, like this scent will forever be tied to this exact moment in my memory. Everything about my awareness sharpens and slows at the same time, as if my mind is determined to capture every detail so I can replay it later.
My vision? Crystal clear. Every feature of his face etched into my brain like a scene I’ll rewind a thousand times.
The smells? Salt air, his cologne, the faint trace of the ocean lingering between us—I inhale them deeply, like they’re leaving fingerprints on my memory.
The touch? His hand at my waist feels warm and firm, sending sparks across my skin that feel like they might leave a permanent imprint.
The sound? The waves caress our feet with a soft hush, a twinkling sound ringing in my ears, everything else fading into the background.
The taste?
Well… I guess I’m about to find out.
He moves in slowly, almost in careful increments, like he’s giving me time to pull away if I want to. The anticipation builds so intensely that I can barely contain it, my heart pounding louder than the waves.
He kisses just to the left of my mouth first, soft and tentative, and I let out a quiet breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. My fingers tighten slightly in his hair as I wait—achingly—for the moment his lips finally meet mine.
And then they do.
Slowly at first. Gentle. Testing.
But the anticipation has been building into a crescendo for far too long.
And I’m hungry.
When he senses that I want more, he matches it, deepening the kiss just enough to make my heart feel like it’s flipping inside my chest. My hands grip tighter—one fisting lightly in his shirt, the other threading through the hair at the back of his head as if I need something solid to hold onto so I don’t float away entirely.
His arms tighten around me in response, pulling me closer like he also doesn’t want this moment to end.
I lose all sense of time.
A minute? Five? Fifteen? It could be anything.
All I know is that his lips on mine feel like a before-and-after moment. Like something has shifted permanently, quietly, without asking permission.
We finally pull apart, our breaths mingling in the cool night air, foreheads nearly touching.
That… will go down as a kiss I remember forever.
Now… if my brain can get back on track for even two seconds…
Where do we go from here?