39. Alice #3
From the boat’s speakers, jazz plays softly—a soulful saxophone that dances the same way the lights do across the water’s reflection.
The gentle lap against the hull is the only other sound.
A few kayaks float nearby, the people inside looking up at the lights with the same quiet reverence Colt wears.
The same one I feel inside. Because it’s like we’ve been transported from my bookshop straight into a living fairytale. One I never want to leave.
Colt draws me closer against him. “Look at what you created.”
I lean my head against his shoulder, the champagne and the music and the magic of the moment making me feel weightless. “Look at what we created,” I say. “You and me and everyone else in this town.”
We drift in silence for a long time, the boat carrying us through the heart of the fire-lit woods.
The jazz swells, a melody seemingly written for this exact moment.
And suddenly, the decor shifts, just as I envisioned.
The orange lights give way to white, the pumpkins replaced by strings of glittering silver and gold ornaments.
As the boat continues its silent commute, people around us smile and laugh, watching as we leave autumn behind and float into the mouth of winter.
Colt shifts, turning to watch my face in the glow of the white lights. He studies me for so long that I laugh and bring a hand to his cheek.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’ve been working on something,” Colt admits in a near whisper.
I smile. “I know.”
Colt scrubs his head, as if summoning the courage to divulge this plan of his. His hand finds my thigh, and he meets my eyes. “I bought these boats because you wanted them, but also because I can rent them out between festivals. And during festivals, like this one, I can rent them to the city.”
“It’s a good idea,” I agree.
“And I’m going… I’m gonna be a contractor. When I reached my EAS and got out of the Marines, I’d thought I’d be a carpenter, like my dad. But I’ve been acting as a contractor these last few months, orchestrating plumbers and electricians and overseeing the entire operation. So I think I can do it.”
“Of course you can,” I encourage, because if Colt said he planned to grow wings and fly to the moon, I’d believe him.
“I figured…” He shifts again. “I don’t have to sell my mom’s place. If we wanted, if you wanted, I could build a proper house on the land. Or we could get a place in town.”
“Colt.” I turn to face him more fully. “That sounds like a dream, and I would be happy living with you anywhere. But we already have a home. The bookshop is our home, if you want it to be. We created it together.”
Colt reaches into his pocket, withdrawing papers and unfolding them.
“I thought you might say that. So I sketched plans for an exterior staircase so you can reach the second story without entering through the shop. And here.” He points out a second blueprint.
“A private interior staircase that leads to the kitchen. For when you want a day off and…”
Colt glances away, frowning, like he’s worried he’s blowing this. I gather his hands in mine, encouraging him to continue, and he looks back at me, his face a mask of determination. “I want to take care of us,” he explains softly. “Like your parents did. I want to give you that life, Ali.”
My ribs open. My breath stills. Because suddenly, I understand.
“Colt.” I place my hands flat on his chest. “I don’t want my parents’ life. I want our life. I want you. As you are now. And as you will be. That’s what I want. Just you, with me.”
Colt drops his head, breathing hard, and when he finally looks up, he doesn’t speak.
He just searches my face, and my belly flips, because I can sense the words gathering courage in his mouth, the same way they’ve done mine.
And I know, one beautiful heartbeat before he says it, what he’s about to voice aloud.
But nothing prepares me for how it’ll feel.
“I love you, Alice Sinclair.”
The lights. The music. The people.
They vanish.
And then there is only Colt. He’s fifteen years old again, standing outside his mother’s house, shame in his eyes, his mother’s harsh words rolling over him as he runs toward our idling car.
And there’s me—gripped with empathy so deep I can’t breathe past it—wanting to do something. Wanting Colt to feel safe, and loved.
Wanting to save him, but not knowing how.
Tears prick my eyes, blurring the lights into streaks of gold, and I say the easiest words I’ve ever known. “I love you too, Colt. I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.”
He kisses me then, his grip on me growing tighter and tighter, as if he’s afraid I’ll suddenly vanish. Then his lips press to my temple, and to my ear. And he whispers, “Forever, then.”
I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of the crisp fall air, and the river, and this man sitting beside me. This man I love with every part of me. And the boat keeps going, sailing beneath an ocean of lights, leading us someplace spectacular.
Someplace where dreams come true.