Chapter 17 #2
Then instead of turning west, he veers south.
“There’s a place I’ve been wanting to show you,” he says. “Honestly, I’ve thought about bringing you here ever since that night in the pool when you...”
The night I first noticed the burns.
Acres of land unfurl in front of us, a tapestry of fields and painted lines that stretch for more than an hour.
Gradually the roads narrow to a thin taper, leaving only the occasional lorry or ute driving in the opposite direction.
We have the left lane all to ourselves.
Tiny towns named on signs are my only clue.
Willowbank. Silverdale. Charlwood.
No more city.
No more city boy.
For tonight, at least.
Darkness blankets us in every direction.
Leaning my head against the glass, I observe a thick dusting of salt against the sky.
But the glow of the dashboard reflects on the windows.
Beams from oncoming vehicles make it difficult to appreciate the stars in all their glory.
This is the furthest we’ve ever driven together at night.
And here in this dimly lit bubble, I’m finding it impossible not to kiss him.
To connect with him again after feeling that distance earlier.
Not while he’s driving on a pitch black road, I decide.
Keep your lips on this side of the console.
Damn that boy for being so divine.
◆◆◆
On our left, we pass a sign that reads: Lake Moogerah.
Tyres slow on the quiet country route, turning down a narrow gravel lane.
It leads us to a small cabin.
The most idyllic holiday rental I can imagine.
Marco’s good at picking stuff like that.
I catch a brief glimpse before the headlights fade.
Black wooden exterior, small fire pit outdoors.
Lush trees frame the edge of the lane for privacy.
Peace and contentment wash over me, all heaviness falling from my shoulders.
Marco is poised on the edge of his seat as though he’s waiting for me to open a gift.
“Close your eyes,” he grins.
“They’re closed, I promise.”
“Okay, wait right there.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh since last night.
I hear the shuffle of feet on stones.
He darts around the side of the car to open my door.
“Take my hand,” he says. “But keep those eyes shut. No peeking.”
“No peeking,” I promise.
Something cosy and soft is being wrapped around my shoulders.
When I step out into the crisp night air, he holds my arm.
“It’s even more magical from the other side of the trees,” he tells me.
“I trust you.”
We go slow. He leads me across a grassy slope.
Then one... two... three stairs to the edge of a dock.
“Almost there,” he says. “One more step in front of you, can you feel it with your foot?”
Beneath my shoes, the grainy path gives way to weathered wooden planks.
He stands behind me, hands guiding my hips.
Breath warm on my neck, he murmurs low in my ear.
“This is what I meant when I said real stars.”
◆◆◆
The moment I open my eyes, I can’t tell where the sky ends and the water begins.
Embers caught in silk, the Milky Way stretches its fingers down toward the lake, brushing the water with silver.
I feel the universe fold in, delicate and vast, yet somehow entirely ours.
“Your painted sky,” I muse.
“Our painted sky,” he replies.
I smile softly.
“This is right above us at all times?”
“Always,” he nods. “But we can only see it when we leave the noise behind.”
And there on the dock, heaven engulfs me.
We let the night cradle us in its infinite hush.
“I've been dying to kiss you all day,” he says. “Can I just…”
Lips tease my neck, slow and deliberate.
I finish the sentence for him.
Hands seeking home, mouths warm in the cold breeze.
We find each other again, as we always do.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I whisper.
“Well... you're a part of me,” he says. “And this is a part of me.”
“Ryan's Belt?” I grin.
“Ryan's entire wardrobe,” he laughs, raising a hand to the canopy above us. “The man clearly loves sequins.”
“Without a doubt.”
It almost seems unfair that we’ll have to close our eyes when we sleep.
Turning back toward the cabin, his car seems so out of place.
A fragment of the urban jungle, so mismatched with the splendor above.
Then that event planner voice sneaks through.
“We have blankets and citronella candles. Plenty to eat and drink. And a cosy fire, of course.”
Naturally, he's thought of everything.
Two neatly packed suitcases are whisked inside.
I steal another glance upward at the sky.
The cabin is rustic with a twist of modern comfort.
Sleek bathroom and kitchen.
Mattress like a cloud. Books lining the shelves.
Walls and ceilings made of stained timber.
And not another soul for miles.
◆◆◆
Outside, Marco rolls his sleeves to prepare the fire pit.
Lifting the axe, he starts splitting wood without even breaking a sweat.
Swing after swing, the motion looks effortless, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.
Once again, I find myself smitten.
“Careful,” I warn. “I might start getting a crush on you.”
His lips curve slightly.
“I wouldn’t object,” he says. “I definitely have a crush on you.”
Stacking the wood into a generous pile, he tosses several pieces into the pit and strikes a match.
An orange glow casts shadows across the clearing.
How is he even more handsome in the firelight?
“You have a crush on me?” I ask.
I know he does. But I still love to hear it.
Marco pulls me closer by the sleeve of my shirt.
“Even my hairdresser wishes I'd shut up about you.”
My heart melts into a puddle.
“And all this time you've been holding out on me,” I sigh. “You had me fooled with that clean shave and those fancy shirts.”
“Guess I’ll have to chop wood more often if it makes you this horny.”
I struggle to keep my thoughts pure.
“Will they notice if we take the axe home?” I muse.
“They?”
“The people who own this cabin.”
Marco gives a mysterious smile before turning away.
“You want some dinner, baby?” he says, heading toward the kitchen.
“Wait. You own this place?”
I follow him up the stairs.
“Needed somewhere to escape. Somewhere away from the hustle.”
He removes a paper parcel from the esky.
“Hope you're hungry?”
“Famished,” I grin.
Those microwave leftovers in my fridge back home have been long forgotten.
He unwraps a wood fire pizza and nudges it into a large skillet.
Reaching for a grater in the cupboard beneath him, he adds a dash of parmesan.
Mixing cranberry juice with soda water, ice, and a squeeze of lime, I fill two glasses just below the rim.
“Can you carry these plates?” he asks.
Setting the pan over a grill, we sit beside the fire while it sizzles.
Savouring every bite, the quiet crackle and spark of the flames is comforting.
A welcome reprieve from the bustling metropolis.
He really is intent on turning me into an outdoors bloke, isn’t he?
I surrender to his will.
I’ll go anywhere with this man.
Drink in one hand, he leans back in his chair.
Night closes in, and I have no idea how dark this conversation is about to get.
“You really want to know me?” he sighs. “Who I used to be? Because there’s no short and sweet version of this story.”
“I really want to know you.” Giving his hand a light squeeze, I press it to my lips. “Take as long as you need.”