Chapter 11
“Come on, Andie,” I say over my shoulder as I drag her down a well-worn path in the Costa Rican jungle. Her hand is in mine, if only because the cameras are hot on our heels as we head out to the adventure course sponsored by the resort.
After the way she felt against me in the pool yesterday—all soft curves and gentle heat—I’ll take any excuse to touch her. It makes me feel awake.
“Kit,” she whines, “where are we going?”
“Getting you out of your head.” My reply is clipped, more frustrated than it should be.
She stayed up drawing until late last night, only slipping into bed after I was asleep. I woke up to her curled into a ball on the far edge of the mattress, like she’d turn to stone if she so much as brushed her foot against mine.
It didn’t make a person feel great, is what I’m saying.
We woke up to the little gold envelope that told us what we were going to be doing today.
Now here we are, in a dripping sauna of a rainforest, surrounded by cameras. My shirt sticks to my back and Andie’s dark waves are going limp. It reminds me of a night we got caught in the rain.
My memory of undergrad is fuzzy in a lot of places, but my time with Andie stands out in sharp relief. We scurried under tree branches in Piedmont Park, huddling together until we forgot about the weather entirely, distracted by each other’s bodies.
I stumble over a tree root, lost in the memory.
Andie wrenches her hand from mine as we draw to a halt outside a small portable trailer in the middle of the jungle. Attendants come out and have us step into harnesses, tugging us this way and that as they explain the rules for our safety. When we get a second to catch our breath, Andie hastily gathers her hair into a messy knot at the nape of her neck, just in time for one of the zipline attendants to plop a helmet on her head.
I’m mid-chuckle when I receive the same treatment. I make quick work of the chin strap while Andie struggles with hers. I’m not sure she’s ever put on a helmet before. She’s not really an outdoorsy type, last I checked. Save that night in the rain, where her nails scraped their memory into my skin. As if I could ever forget.
My fingers twitch at my sides, and fuck it—we’re on camera, so I can touch her. I’ll use that advantage every time, for as long as I have it. Knowing the cameras are going to be dissecting our every move—along with a TV audience—I close the distance between us and swat her hands away from the mess she’s making. “You really can’t survive without me, can you?”
She scowls, but drops her hands at her sides, balled into fists. “Amazing I’m still alive, then.”
“A miracle.” I say dryly. “Don’t worry, I’m here now.”
She flips me off, and I don’t bother hiding my smile.
Andie looks at the wire between the trees, far above our heads. Her lip catches in her teeth and her foot taps a speedy rhythm on the forest floor.
A producer signals for one of us to say something, and Andie lets out a frustrated sigh.
I scoot one foot close enough to touch hers and ask, “What’s wrong?”
Her foot stills against mine. “Why didn’t we get surfing lessons or something?” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. She squeezes her eyes shut while I untangle a knot she’s somehow managed to tie in the chin strap by the buckle.
It would be easier to take the helmet off to wrangle this thing, but if she’s saying she’d prefer hours of sand and saltwater, I know something’s bothering her.
“You afraid of heights, sweet potato?” If there’s one thing that can distract Andie, it’s the insinuation she can’t do something, especially if she’s afraid to do it.
One time, in college, she volunteered to go onstage with one of those insufferable improv groups, simply because I teased her about being quiet that evening.
Now, her eyes fly open and meet mine. I fight a smug smile—her look is all fire and frustration, her hazel eyes bright and focused in the sunlight streaming through the tree branches. I can feel her vibrating with barely contained energy.
The freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks are on full display. The flush on her cheeks doesn’t even begin to obscure them. Instead of makeup, she’s been slathering her face in sunscreen every morning. I doubt it has anything to do with me, and everything to do with the humidity and relentless sunshine. But I like that she lets me see her like this. Undone, just a little.
Finally, she huffs her answer. “What does it matter?”
The knot loosens and I pull the buckle through the loop I’ve freed up. I take my time straightening out both straps, my fingers dangerously close to her skin. Brow furrowed at the buckle on the helmet, I answer, “Why wouldn’t my wife’s fear of heights matter?”
That earns me another death glare.
I can’t help it. The corner of my mouth tugs into a half smile. Her eyes dart to the ladder that’s bolted to the tree next to us. It leads up to the platform we’ll be throwing ourselves off of. She’s terrified, if the pulse in her neck is anything to go by.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say gently, without a hint of sarcasm. As much as I enjoy pushing her buttons, I don’t want her to be terrified. That’s different. I want her annoyed, frustrated, and ready to conquer what’s in front of her to prove she can. Not scared for her life.
“I’m not afraid,” she states firmly, setting her jaw. “There’s a bunch of experts here, and they inspect the lines every morning to make sure they’re in good condition, and we’ll have a safety harness on, and—”
I clip the buckle into place and tug on the strap until it’s snug against her chin. I can’t help myself—I brush my thumb along the corner of her jaw, as if I can make her loosen her gritted teeth.
She doesn’t. But her breath catches, and I let it be enough, my hand falling away from her skin. Our eyes meet in a split second of understanding, like no time has passed between us at all.
“Just because it’s logical to be calm doesn’t mean you can’t be afraid.” My voice is so low, a breeze through the jungle nearly carries it away. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll even tell them I’m the one that’s scared.”
Andie’s eyes flash with emotion, raw and pleading. It feels like I finally see a glimpse of how she became who she is now: fear and pride mixing to create an addictive cocktail of hope.
Her eyelashes flutter downward, stealing away the taste. The moment is gone, like it never existed. I swallow, ignoring the stab of pain at the loss. We used to spend hours talking, never once hiding from each other.
“Shockingly enough,” she says tartly, “I don’t need you to save me.”
Our moment is gone as attendants guide us to the tree we’ll climb to get to the first platform. I let Andie start her ascent first, following behind her. I don’t let the cameras see how delighted I am to have an excuse to stare at her ass, like some kind of animal. But I don’t hesitate to use my hand to cup her buttocks when it’s time to boost her up to the final platform. She glares at me over her shoulder, breathless. From the height or from my touch, I’ll never know.
“Who’s going first?” the attendant asks, a sparkle in his eyes. This is clearly his favorite part, pushing people over the edge.
Andie stares at the handles he’s wrangled, chewing on her lip.
I clear my throat and step forward. “Me,” I tell the attendant. Then I turn to Andie and give her a lighthearted smirk. “That way I can catch you on the other side.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. But she can’t hide the way her shoulders loosen just a bit as the attendant begins attaching me to the safety line, tugging on every strap and buckle to make sure I’m secure.
“Any last words?” I ask, reaching for the handles.
She gives me a playful smile, pure devious delight in her eyes. “Can I have your special edition Montblanc drafting pencil if you die?”
I lean back until my harness catches my weight. She only wants me for my four-hundred-dollar mechanical pencil, and I can’t bring myself to care. “How do you know I have one?”
Her cheeks turn pink as she ducks her head to look at our feet. “You were sketching the morning after we got here.”
I swallow. She was drinking her coffee on the balcony, and I hastily sketched her image on hotel paper, desperate to hold the moment in the palm of my hand. For some reason a photo just wouldn’t do. My hands needed to touch her in any way they could. The human form was never one of my strong suits, but I captured her likeness well enough that I folded the paper up and tucked it in my bag for safekeeping.
I didn’t know she saw me at work. Something warm turns over in my stomach, and if I sit with it for too long, I’ll feel things I know I’ll regret. “What’s mine is yours,” I tell her with a genuine smile. Her bright eyes lift to mine, and I add for good measure, “See you on the other side, Mrs. Watson.”
She flips me off as I take the leap, laughing.