38
The cove is on the northside of the island, and long ago someone decided to call it Camelot because it’s so beautiful, so unreal, that it seems to be made of dreams. Which, I suppose, it is. This is where beach weddings, family photos, picnics, and proposals happen. And where swim lessons happen.
Aaron stands on the soft white sand. It’s as fine as powdered sugar, still cool even in the morning sun, and it sifts softly beneath my bare feet.
Aaron’s back is to me. He’s looking out over the sea, and the wind whips at his black hair and tugs at his navy shirt and swim shorts. His back is broad, his shoulders stiff, and the rising sun falls over his bronze skin and the lines of black tattoos on his biceps.
He looks lonely. Or perhaps he just looks very, very alone. As if he’s wishing he were out in the ocean, swimming for hours and hours until he found who he was looking for. The line of his shoulders speaks of longing and wishes yet to unfold.
I step over the powder-soft sand and breathe in the scent of salt water, warming sand, and bright green sea grape leaves covered in morning dew. A blackbird sings in the stretching branches of an old ironwood tree shading a wooden picnic table. I set the picnic basket—made by Maranda—on the table. It’s full of water jugs, sliced banana bread, mangos, and bananas. The sweet scent of it floats up to me as I consider Aaron.
He knows I’m here. When I set the picnic basket down he stiffens at the noise. But he doesn’t turn. Instead he continues to look out over the sea.
It is beautiful here. It’s a horseshoe-shaped beach with the finest sand I’ve ever felt. The ironwood trees dapple the ground with shade and the sea grapes tint the air with a sweet, earthy smell. A long, wide stretch of coral limestone circles into the sea, forming a large C-shaped pool. Farther out the reef breaks the waves. But here, at the cove, the circle of coral limestone protects the beach. The limestone extends about thirty feet into the water and wraps around twenty feet more, so that the water inside the cove is mirror-smooth.
It’s a clear turquoise-blue, and from the beach I can see through the water, all the way to the sandy bottom. There are fish—canary-yellow, iridescent blue, orange and white—all flashing around the limestone and into small mounds of blue-green coral.
The sun has barely topped the water. It’s still peeking over the sea into the new day. Even so, it kisses me on the cheeks with a bit of golden warmth. So I pat the picnic basket and stride across the sand. My white cotton cover-up flutters against my thighs, and the string of my bikini pulls at my neck.
I stop next to Aaron, and when I do, he looks down and gives me a tight smile.
I wonder.
Last night I hurt Amy.
Maybe last night I hurt Aaron too.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice absent of the familiar warmth.
“Aaron?” I reach out to put my hand on his forearm.
He looks at me then, a quick glance, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “Not McCormick?”
Ah. So I did. The dream Becca said something last night to hurt him.
“No. Are you all right?” I ask, touching the warmth of his forearm with the pads of my fingers.
He lets out a breath at my touch and I think he’s going to touch me, say “Fi,” kiss me. But then he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“What?” My heart picks up speed at the gravelly hurt in his voice.
He opens his eyes and looks down at me. There’s a raging storm in the depths of them. “This. This tug-of-war. This back-and-forth. I can’t keep doing it. Last night you kissed him. This morning you’re here.”
Kissed him?
Kissed Max?
How does he know? Can he somehow see my world? Or is it my subconscious dragging Max into this world?
“He’s my friend,” I admit, my mouth dry. “He’s been my friend for a long time. He doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
McCormick stiffens. “I think he has everything to do with us.”
There’s so much hurt rolling off him, so much confusion and pain in his eyes, that I take a step back.
And before I can think, I say, “This isn’t real?—”
“You think I don’t know that? Do you think I haven’t known that for fifteen years? This may not be real, but our life is real. This island. Our family. Our kids. Our life—it’s real. If you don’t want it, you only have to tell me. All you have to say is ‘I don’t want this.’ I’m not holding you here. I love you, but I’m not holding you here. I married you, loving you, knowing this wasn’t real. You?—”
He cuts himself off, turning his face to the sea.
I stare at him, stunned at the lines around his mouth. At the bleak light in his eyes. He stares at the limestone rocks, craggy in the water. At the edge of the rock there’s a lone ironwood, stunted and bowed from the wind but still growing, its roots clinging to the rocks.
Some might think the rock is stronger. But truly, the lone ironwood will work its roots into the stone and crack it open.
I think once, I might have believed my heart was like stone. I didn’t want love. I couldn’t accept love. But something as small as an ironwood tree, something as insignificant as a wildflower, can start to grow, to bloom, and then the rock will crack open and let in sunshine and light.
I step close to Aaron, slowly reaching over and taking his hand. I thread my fingers with his. He takes a shuddering breath but doesn’t pull away.
The warmth of him rolls over me like the sun rising and rolling over the water. I stare out at the sea and let the soothing tide wash away the hurt, the fear—everything I’ve been scared of.
Finally, I say, “I’m here now. With you.”
Aaron turns and looks down at me. The breeze blows, tugging at my cover-up and licking over my skin.
“You’re not the same Becca as last night?”
I shake my head, gripping his hand. “I’m confused about a lot of things. For a long time I never let anyone love me. I’m trying to learn how. I came here thinking you were the one to help me. Remember what you said? You’d stay to help someone you love.”
I see it then. Why there’s a curling of fear still lodged in my chest. Why a prickle of sweat lines my brow. I’m scared he’ll leave me. That even in a dream I’ll be left behind.
“I need you,” I whisper, my throat aching and raw. “From the start. I need you to help me. I kissed him last night because I love him as a friend, because he means a lot to me. But I kiss you because?—”
His stares down at me, his eyes glowing, molten-hot in the sunrise. “Because why?”
I take a tight, aching breath and admit, “Because if I don’t, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Because when I’m near you I feel sparks and flames, and”—I throw out my hand—“you consume me. I think about you all the time. I want you all the time. Even knowing I can’t have you. I want you. I want you so badly. And I’m terrified, absolutely terrified, that?—”
I cut myself off.
Aaron’s cheeks have tinted red. His gaze scrapes over me, looking into my heart. He steps forward, bringing the scent of sunshine and sea with him. “Terrified of what?”
I shake my head.
“I told you my truths. You tell me yours. Terrified of what?”
I swallow, clench my hands, and then leap into the turbulent waters. “I’m terrified that I love you. That I love you desperately, deeply, and that I can never have you. None of this is real and I can never have you.”
Aaron cracks then. That’s all I can describe it as. The tension, the stiffness lining his shoulders, the protection he’d wrapped around himself. It cracks, breaking away.
He grips me then, picking me up in one swoop. The air rushes around me and my stomach tilts. I gasp and grip his shoulders. Wrap my legs around his middle.
“Fi?” he asks, looking down at me.
My heart pounds, crashing against my ribs. “Yes.”
His mouth hardens. “Why does that damn word make me want you so much? Why does that damn word confuse me, tie me up, make me question everything I know?”
“It’s not a damn word. It’s me,” I say, touching my finger to the dark stubble on his jaw.
“So you’re the one tying me up, confusing me, making me question everything.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
He strides across the sand, following the sunlight toward the cool crystal waters.
“Where are you going?” I ask, looking at the determined glint in his eye.
“Into the water, where I can think.”
“You think best in the water?”
“It’ll cool me off.”
Then the water is splashing around his ankles, and the sandy slope edges down. I cling to Aaron, the hard planes of his abdomen pressed to my breasts. I clutch his shoulders as he strides further into the sea, the tropical fish darting around him, diving into the crags of the limestone and the protective embrace of the coral.
“Why do you need cooling off?” I ask, as the seawater licks at my thighs, then drenches my cotton cover-up. The water is soft, cool, as light as a cloud. It strokes over my skin and laps against me in gentle waves, until it’s up to my shoulders, and I’m nearly submerged.
I press myself tighter to Aaron, wrapping around his heat. Letting the gentle current rock us together.
His eyes flare at the movement of my hips against his.
“Because,” he says, his voice rough, “I want to drop you to the sand, strip off this dress, that red bikini, and make love to you all morning long. I wouldn’t care who came along. I wouldn’t care if the world was ending. That’s how much I want you. I’d make love while this whole island was sinking into the sea and I wouldn’t give a damn. When you say those things, when you look at me like that, I want to make love to you like it’s the first time. That’s why I need cooling off.” He bites out the last, his cheeks flushed, fingers curling into my thighs.
I realize something that I didn’t before. If I make love with Aaron, if we make love, I’ll never, ever love anyone else. Even if it’s a dream, even if it isn’t real, he’ll entwine himself so firmly around my heart that it’ll crack open and let him in. Not just let him in but invite him in and build a home for him, where he’ll stay for the rest of my life. A deep, desperate love, residing in my heart. Not just in my dreams but everywhere.
“You want to make love?” I ask, my heart pounding against his chest.
“No,” he says, watching my mouth. “I’m trying not to.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you’ll regret it. When we make love, I want to know you’ll never regret it.”
“I wouldn’t,” I say, but we both know that’s not true.
He shakes his head, a sad smile at the corners of his lips. The soft current flows around us, tugging at my cover-up and the cotton of his shirt.
“Aaron?”
“Yeah?”
I raise my hand to his cheek, watch a rainbow of waterdrops fall back to the sea. I set my fingers to his mouth. “I may be scared, but I won’t ever regret loving you. I’m sorry if I leave. If I hurt you.”
“Then don’t leave,” he says. “Stay in the water with me.”
I watch his mouth pressing against my fingertips. I wish I could, but, “I can’t. You don’t understand, but it’s just a dream.”
“Then stay in the dream with me. I’ll dream a dream of you, and you can dream a dream of me, and that’s where we’ll meet.”
“All right,” I whisper, my throat aching, the sun reflecting off the bright blue sea. “You’ll stay here? You won’t leave?”
“I’ll stay,” he promises.
A wave rolls over us and I rock against him. Aaron closes his eyes as I move over him, my legs wrapped tight around him. The coolness of the water is gone, replaced by a soft blue warmth. I’m floating, weightless, in Aaron’s arms.
Sparks—the sparks of dreams—travel up my legs, over my thighs, and pool like air bubbles floating through the water to settle effervescent wherever Aaron and I touch. I feel suddenly as if I’m a star, floating in the sea of the sky.
“Will you kiss me?” I ask, and something in my voice makes Aaron’s eyes turn a darker shade.
“Is this the last time?”
“I hope not.”
“And what do I do when you don’t feel this anymore?”
I shake my head. I don’t know. What does he do when I’m not here? When the watch stops ticking and I put it away.
“Wait for me to come back to you.”
“I’d rather let you go,” he says.
I wonder if that’s permission. If he’s telling me I can keep seeing Max, keep trying to find that spark. But then I can’t think about that anymore because Aaron takes his hand and brushes it over my cheek.
Then he feathers his thumb over my mouth and I taste the salt of the sea on him. He pulls my bottom lip down, touches the warmth of my lips and tongue, and slowly I drag my teeth over him.
He makes a noise, a quiet, low noise, at the back of his throat. Then I grip his shoulders and lean forward, and I take his mouth.
I close my eyes so I can feel all of him. The bittersweet taste of the sea, the longing of dreams, the yearning for the sun right before it rises. He’s still under my mouth, as quiet as the smooth surface of the water. But then, at the touch of my tongue to his lips, he curses, clutches my thighs, and pulls me close.
“I want you,” he says, rocking against me. His mouth drags over mine, pulling at me, spinning me down, deeper underwater. “I need you.”
“Yes,” I say, as the hardness of him hits me in exactly the right spot. He grips my thigh with one hand, his fingers clutching my hip. His other hand presses into the curve of my back, rocking me closer, driving me so that I ride over him.
His mouth moves over mine, taking my kisses, my breath, my small, desperate noises. Over the sea, the wind tugs at us and the current rocks us closer. Aaron moves me over him, holding me tight and close—so close I can feel the wanting need of his heart beating against mine. My breasts scrape against his chest, the fabric of the bikini and his shirt abrading over my sensitive skin.
He drives me closer, rocking his hips into mine, and I curse the clothing we’re wearing. I curse the grip of the sea and the distance of dreams.
“Love me,” Aaron says, taking my mouth, breathing against me. “Love me.”
I send my hand to his face, taking his words in a kiss.
“Love me like I love you right now.” He rocks against me again, the water flowing around us, between us.
Sparks dance over me, coalescing and catching fire, until heat rolls over me and through me.
“Don’t go,” he says. “Stay and I’ll love you like this for the rest of our lives.”
At that he slips a hand between us, touching the space where we meet. He brushes his hand over my bikini, the fabric scraping over me. And that friction, that promise, sends a rush, a wave of sensation, rolling through me. I cry out, arch against him, throw my head back, and ride the turbulent wave of his love.
He strums me, strokes me, so that I stay high, riding him, until my body is tingling and flying and he’s kissing my jaw, my cheeks, the edges of my lips, and then my mouth.
He catches my whispered, broken “Love you. I love you.”
“I love you,” I breathe.
And I realize as I float back into him, cradled by the ocean and his arms, that I was wrong. I didn’t need to make love with Aaron to fall desperately, irrevocably in love with him.
I’m already there.
I’m already gone.
I’m in love with a dream, with a man who isn’t real, and there isn’t any coming back from it.