15. Aspyn
ASPYN
I ’m horrified when a sweet older man asks me to cover up. Right away, Deac hands me my shirt, and I toss it over my head with apologies on my lips.
“Oh, no need to apologize. I remember the impulsivity of youth with fondness,” the man tells me as I jump up to my feet and whirl around to come face to face with him.
He’s the cutest older man: a head full of silver hair, hard-won wrinkles especially around his eyes, and he’s slight, maybe five-foot-five. His smile is warm, and it reaches his brown eyes.
“How old are you kids?” he asks.
“Twenty-nine. Not so young,” I laugh. “I’m Aspyn, and this is Deacon. I’m sorry again.”
“I’m Hans.” He speaks with the slightest of German accents.
“I’ve seen you here before, fishing together.
You seem like nice kids. I remember the days of nude sunbathing myself.
This lake was cleaner thirty-five years ago, though.
That was back when I met my late wife, Mary.
Here, in fact. She was the guest on another man’s boat. ”
Hans gives us a crooked smile that I find charming, and I send him an encouraging one back.
“So, how did you win her over?” I ask.
“We became friends. I waited for him to make a mistake and swooped in. I’m not proud of it, but I won her heart. Before that, I believe I was in what you kids call ‘the friend zone.’ I wasn’t a man of means back then, but she saw through those trappings into my soul.”
Tears swim in my eyes. “That’s beautiful, Hans. You said…your late wife? I’m so terribly sorry.”
Hans frowns and nods. “Thank you. She fought the cancer with everything she had. Three different times, she won. The fourth was too much for her frail body. We spent our last night on this little yacht six months ago, a few weeks before hospice came in to help give her peace.”
I’m going to sob for this old man, aren’t I? I put my hand over my mouth and try not to embarrass myself.
Instead, what comes out is, “Deacon just lost his mom to cancer a few months ago. It’s a beast. Again, I don’t have the words to express how sorry I am.”
“I’m sorry too, Deacon,” Hans tells him as Deacon visibly gulps. “The truth is, I’ve come to say goodbye to this ol’ boat. Without her, ‘Love in the Sun’ is just loneliness. I’m getting ready to sell her in the spring.”
I glance at the name of the boat in dark purple letters, and it tugs at my heartstrings.
“I’d like to take her out one last time before winter comes. Would you kids like to jump on board? We’ll be losing sunlight here soon, but the view of the stars from the center of the lake is priceless.”
Even though we need to get up early for moving day, Deacon and I can’t resist Hans’ charm, so we hop on to Love in the Sun, and Hans gives us the grand tour.
It’s not a big yacht, but it has a living area, kitchenette, and a room with a queen-sized bed below deck, along with a fully-functioning bathroom I beg to use.
Up top, well-taken-care-of, shiny purple leather circular bench seats surround a round table where Hans tells us he and Mary played a great deal of card games over the years.
We settle down into the leather seats while Hans drives the boat out to the middle of the lake.
The sunset is spectacular ahead of us, with the colors of dusk lighting up the skies in orange as bright as flames, fuchsia pinks, and even a bit of violet swirls. Despite how pretty it is, I keep catching Deacon staring at me, though he looks away every time I catch his eyes.
Hans turns off the boat, and we float, the clear blue lake stretching out on all sides of us; nothing but water and sky and mountains in all directions.
“Purple is Aspyn’s favorite color,” Deacon tells Hans as he motions to the leather we’re sitting on and the purple LED track lights shining bright.
“It was Mary’s as well. I had this boat designed with her in mind.
She loved it. Going out on the lake was our favorite thing to do together, and I’m afraid now that she’s gone, I’ll not be able to stomach coming out here alone.
” Hans pulls out his flip phone and takes a couple of photos of the sun setting in the distance.
“I feel very small when I’m out here. Maybe too small,” Hans admits.
“Me too.” I nod.
Deacon is quiet but wears a thoughtful expression. “Sir, if I give you my number, will you call me come spring and let me know what your asking price is on this beautiful boat? I’ve been considering buying one for a long time, and by spring, I’ll probably have a good nest egg.”
Hans dismisses him with a wave of the hand. “You two remind me of me and my wife, and I think this good old boat would be happy in your hands. You’ll take it, with a discount, in April, if you’re still able.”
Deacon looks overwhelmed by Hans’ generosity, and they shake hands while Deacon expresses his gratitude.
We stay out on the lake until the stars twinkle above us, not a cloud in the sky, reminding us how we’re both nothing and everything.
Deacon reaches over and entwines his fingers with mine as I lie flat on the bench seat and stare up.
A shooting star zaps across the night sky, and Deacon whispers, “Make a wish.”
But I have everything I need, so I steal a suitable answer from beauty pageant queens and passionately wish for world peace, or at least peace within myself.
That’s where peace really starts, anyway.
And it feels like I’m close to it, as the dark blues and grays of the night sky paint a perfect canvas from which the stars shine endlessly, burning a million times more powerfully than fire, some alive, some dead, all stunning no matter the phase. I sigh in wonder.
We stay up too late on the boat, eating snacks Hans brought and drinking the Chardonnay his wife had left downstairs on their last trip together.
When Deacon and I walk back to the truck, his free hand slides into mine, and he doesn’t drop it until he opens the passenger door for me and gently closes it behind me.
My heart feels cracked open in the best way—like it’s almost ready to let love in, though fear persists.
That night, I can’t sleep, so I knock lightly on Deacon’s door and ask, “Are you still up?” in a low tone.
“Sorta,” comes his muffled answer. “You okay?” His head pops up from beneath a pillow, his hair standing on end. I fight the urge to laugh.
“I’m okay, just can’t fall asleep. And your house is full of new noises,” I confess, stepping into his room. Into the quiet darkness, I add, “Can I sleep next to you?”
I worry he’ll say no, but he simply holds up the covers and whispers, “Climb in, babe.”
So, I curl up on my side near Deacon, who lies shirtless in basketball shorts beside me.
“Closer,” I whisper.
He inches nearer.
“Closer,” I whisper again.
“Just come here, woman.” Deacon throws his arm out to the side and then wraps it around me, yanking me near as I lay my cheek on his warm, well-muscled chest. When my hand rests on his abdomen, my fingers tremble a bit, nervous being so close to the man I’ve called my bestie for so many years.
“I can hear your anxiety from here,” Deacon tells me. “Just feel up my abs. It’s fine. I know you wanna.”
He makes me laugh, and my fingers drift around his hard stomach, discovering those lovely dips between muscles I’d only seen with my eyes until now.
Deacon lightly groans as I slide my hand back up to his pec and back down to his stomach.
I trace his hip bone, noting the V-shape of his musculature, every touch awakening something in me that had been sleeping for some time.
I breathe heavier, unsure if this was the best idea.
In the guest room, I hadn’t been able to shut my brain off, and I was still so dazzled from our night out on the boat with Hans that I couldn’t calm myself down.
Being in such close proximity to Deacon only speeds my heart rate and sends my stomach lurching.
“Shh,” Deac whispers against my ear. “Relax. It’s just you and me, Beck.”
And I eventually do relax and fade into a dreamless sleep, waking up before the alarm the next morning, all tangled up in Deacon.
He’s spooning me from behind with an arm beneath my neck that I’m using for a pillow, his other arm draped around my waist. His top leg has captured both of my legs beneath it.
And truth be told? It’s the most secure I’ve felt in ages, his body against mine, his breath steady in my ear.
I try not to move a muscle, though my ear feels like it has fallen asleep from resting on his bicep.
I move just enough that Deacon stirs and groans, “Mmm,” from behind me. My nightshirt has crept up beneath my breasts, leaving my belly and panties exposed. His hand moves to my stomach and rests there warmly, as he sighs and shifts to get closer in his sleep.
Only now, I can feel his morning erection pressing against my ass, and I know one thing I didn’t before: he’s incredibly well-endowed. I fight to ignore those thoughts as I wiggle to free myself, fruitlessly, feeling Deacon move even closer in his sleep.
“Well, this is awkward,” I whisper beneath my breath.
Or is it exactly where you belong, Aspyn?
I raise a good point, so I let sleep capture me again despite my ear throbbing with pins and needles.
When I awake again, we’re mostly in the same position, except Deacon’s hand has risen and he’s cupping one of my breasts.
A groan tears from my lips as he moves restlessly against me, still hard, still pressed against my ass.
It’s a sensory experience unlike any other.
My heart beats a crescendo in my chest as Deacon snores in my ear.
The hitch in my breath tells me I don’t exactly mind the situation, and when his fingers move just slightly, they graze my nipple, which pebbles under his touch.
I ache, and I must arch my back because my ass pushes closer to his hardness.
You didn’t sleep with Sean the last three months of your relationship.