Chapter Twenty-Eight
twenty-eight
hope
The storm died down when it made landfall, but severe flooding and widespread home damage make me glad we made the trip to stay with Iris. Local news says the roads are clear, so we leave after lunch and are halfway back to the condo, driving past uprooted trees and muddy ditches, when Marissa calls. A neighbor told her the power’s still out, so we detour to Walmart to buy a cooler, but it turns out we’re too late. The electricity has been off long enough that the contents of the freezer are thawed, the rooms dense with prickly heat.
Working in companionable silence we bag up the trash and haul the spoiled food to the dumpsters. Normally I’d be operating at zero battery after a day without alone time, but it’s never been like that with Adrian. By not pushing me into conversation, he gives me room to breathe, to recalibrate.
Back inside, he hovers by the doorway. “I have to head over to check on the boat, but I don’t want to leave you here, it’s stifling.” He gestures to the open sliding balcony door, doing nothing to dislodge the humid warmth. “I could take you to a hotel, or I’m sure Iris won’t mind you staying there for another day or two.”
“The fact that last night went so well is a miracle. I don’t want to chance it, no offense.”
“A hotel, then. I’ll cover it.”
Hurt rises at his choice of words. “Why are you speaking like my employer? I thought we were past that.”
His brow furrows. “I... I just didn’t want to assume.”
He’s standing at the vestibule, where our passionate kiss took place less than a day ago, and yet he’s acting as if nothing’s changed.
“Yesterday, you made it clear you wanted more than friendship.” I pause for breath, gripping the countertop and gathering my courage. I feel like I’m at the crest of a towering sand dune, the wind roaring against my face, poised to careen over the edge. “I would never have kissed you if I didn’t feel the same.”
His whole face shifts from stony indifference to joy, like someone lit a flame inside him, and an answering spark awakens in my chest.
I don’t often find myself lonely. This clawing want inside me isn’t a generalized desire for company, it’s an Adrian-specific need and I can’t muster the strength to deny it any longer. “Unless you’d rather be alone, I’d like to go with you.”
Adrian’s been in touch with the marina, and they said while several boats suffered damage, his appears to be fine, but he heaves an audible sigh of relief when the Praespero comes into view, floating on the debris-ridden surface of the water, hull apparently intact. “Guess we lucked out.”
“Better do a full check, just to be safe.”
He grins at me. “I love when you talk redundancies and protocol.”
By the time we finish going over the boat to make sure nothing’s been damaged in the storm, we’re both sweating all over again. Marissa texted earlier with an invite to drive up and stay with her family, but I told her I’m good. A road trip sounds exhausting, though I wish I would’ve booked a hotel when Adrian suggested it, because now I’ll have to go further inland to find a good rate. I’m about to ask him to take me back to the condo to retrieve my car when his phone chimes.
He huffs out a laugh and tips the screen toward me.
Marissa: Are you with Hope? She’s doing the two-word text thing, and I’m worried about her staying at my condo with the power out.
Chuckling, I pull out my own phone.
Hope: “Two-word text thing”? It’s called answering your question.
Marissa: Omg, did Adrian show you my text?
Oops. Now she knows we’re together and will jump to all sorts of conclusions.
Hope: Don’t worry about me. I’m sure the power will come back on soon, and if not, we’ll figure something out.
Marissa: OK, but my offer stands. Aunt Clara will be happy for you to stay with us. Just let me know.
Hope: Will do.
Marissa: Now you’re just doing it on purpose.
Hope: Maybe so.
I show Adrian the messages, and he lets out a soft laugh, reading over my shoulder. “I shouldn’t aggravate her when she’s just looking out for me, but it’s so much fun.”
“I fully support it,” he says. “She did invite you here on false pretenses, after all.”
“And hid it from you. A few two-word texts are totally called for.”
He bites his lip. “We really ought to be more upset at her for that.”
“You’re not?”
He shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
His words hold the promise of what we started in the condo, and of conversations a long time coming, but for now, I’m ready to find some air-conditioning and a hot shower.
I stretch, muscles aching from sleeping on the couch. My clothes are plastered to my body from the sweaty work of cleaning out the refrigerator and climbing around the boat.
“My next stop is home,” Adrian says. “If you’re not sick of me yet, you’re welcome to come along. I’d offer you a hot shower, but I’m not sure I have power either.”
Sick of him, after three years apart? “Guess we’d better check.”
Adrian’s electricity is on, and from the state of his microwave clock and freezer, he never lost power. Not only that, he has an outdoor shower, which means no waiting to take turns. He points out the bathroom, then pulls open the hall cabinet to show me where the towels are.
“Try not to run off with any of them,” he says with a grin, before heading outside.
Despite the relief of hot water on my sore muscles, I shower quickly, feeling surprisingly at home in what is so clearly Adrian’s space. His shampoo, his bar soap, the cedar scent enveloping me in the steamy room like his embrace. Wrapped in a familiar striped towel, I stoop to rummage in my overnight bag, pushing aside the hoodie he insisted I keep, no longer embarrassed about holding on to it.
I make my way out to the screened-in deck, halting when I realize the shower is right below. Before I can backtrack, the deck wobbles with footsteps and Adrian comes into view on the stairs, carrying a caddy, a towel tossed over one shoulder. His face breaks into a smile when he sees me. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you.”
He disappears into the house and reappears a moment later. “Well, not give to you.” He squeezes the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face. “More like, return to you.” He extends his hand, palm down, and a thin strand falls from it, the pendant at the end jerking to a stop and swaying slightly in the breeze, like a spider on a thread.
I step closer to get a good look, then smile wide. “My necklace!”
I reach out and he drops it into my hand, the chain spiraling into my palm, barely a weight. “I thought I’d lost it.” The gold manta ray pendant is a memento he gave me to commemorate diving with real manta rays during a research trip in Mexico.
Unhooking the clasp, I slide the necklace around my neck, glowering with mock-accusation. “I can’t believe you’ve had it all this time. Who’s the bandit now?”
He laughs out loud. The sound is mellow and husky in the evening stillness. When he notices me fumbling, he steps around behind me, gathering my curls in his hands to leave my neck exposed, and tingles dance up my spine.
Hands trembling, I work to fasten the clip, hyperaware of his presence behind me, his grip on my hair a welcome pressure. Evening is a warm shell around us, the loamy scent of the river drifting upward, punctuated by the sharp scent of cypress leaves.
“I should’ve returned it to you before now.” The words are just above a whisper, stirring the fine hairs at my nape. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. Finders keepers.” After all, I left it behind, just like the rest of the life I didn’t come back for. My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat, but the emotion remains lodged in place, clogging my windpipe.
“Not just about the necklace,” he says, releasing my hair now that the clasp is fastened. I shake my head to settle the curls, then reach for the ever-present hair tie on my wrist.
“Don’t.” His eyes fly to mine. “Sorry... It’s your hair, so you can do what you like. But it’s beautiful like this. So full.” I washed my hair in the shower and without my usual products it’s expanding in the heat, the curls less defined than I’m used to. “I like it,” he says. “I always like it. But I don’t always get to see it this way.” His voice is almost reverent, and I slide the hair tie back on my wrist, feeling suddenly beautiful.
He pulls his towel off his shoulder and drapes it over the back of one of the Adirondack chairs. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for not trying harder to fix things. For not calling, or texting, or checking in on you.” One of his hands is clenched on the back of the chair, as if for support.
I twist my lips. “Pretty sure we were both in the same boat with that one.” The words remind me of a question I’ve been too nervous to ask, but darkness is falling fast, and with it comes the sensation of anonymity.
Aiming for nonchalance, I take a seat in the other chair. “Speaking of boats...you named yours after me?” He might have bought it with the name already on it, and not known, but the coincidence doesn’t seem likely. Neither does him naming a boat after me when we hadn’t spoken for over a year.
Adrian lets his head flop down, his hair falling along his cheeks. “Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to ask about that.” He peeks up at me, bites his lip. “I kind of showed my cards with that one.”
Wanting to fan myself from how effortlessly sexy he is, I shake my head. “Except you didn’t. I was super curious, but mostly confused.” I look away, into the twilight sky. “I really thought you didn’t want me here.”
“I didn’t.” His voice is a soft rumble, but my body tenses at his words. “At least, my head didn’t. My heart is a whole different story.” I know exactly what he means. The past three years are evidence of my heart’s stubborn refusal to give over to my head. “But as for the boat, I named it back when I thought we might still have a chance. I thought maybe you’d see it and...” He breaks off. “I guess it was my way of hoping you’d come back to me without me having to say the words. Cowardly.”
“Or a really romantic gesture,” I counter.
“You hate romance.”
I take a moment to consider this. “Not true. I just don’t need it.”
“No one needs it. But some of us want it,” he says quietly, and my heart breaks at what he’s saying. I’ve never been interested in flowers or chocolate, but Adrian used to love when I’d surprise him by having his favorite takeout ordered when he came to visit, and I remember the joy he’d get shaking the presents on his birthday. Toward the end of our relationship, I was so focused on my own feelings that I stopped considering his.
“I shouldn’t have expected you to come when I was the one having second thoughts,” I say. “I asked for space. If you would’ve come, we probably would’ve argued. Might’ve made things worse.”
“Worse than three years of silence?” He shakes his head at the impossibility. “I should’ve come. But honestly, I was worried you didn’t want to see me, and scared to find out for sure.”
“I always want to see you. And I think that’s why I didn’t ask. I was terrified if you came I’d just throw myself into your arms.”
“Why didn’t you want that?” He sounds hurt, and no wonder. His arms are the perfect refuge, solid and sure, and I’ve wasted far too much time not being in them.
I tuck my legs up under myself. “Because I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I was worried how I felt about you would lead me to do something foolish, like my parents.”
“But they’re happy, Hope.” He walks around and takes a seat on the edge of his chair, legs extended in front of him. “Their careers might not be as out-of-the-ordinary as ours, but they provided for all your needs, gave you a loving home. They’re some of the happiest people I’ve ever met. You think they should’ve risked their chance at the life they wanted just for a couple degrees they weren’t that interested in in the first place?”
Put that way, my fears sound ridiculous. Love didn’t impede their dreams, it was their dream. “But it was never my dream,” I say aloud. “I never dreamed of growing old with someone, not until I met you.”
He tips forward, dark eyes glinting in the twilight. “You said ‘not until.’ Does that mean...”
“You know I wanted that, Adrian.” I gulp. “I told you, so many times.”
“But when it came time to make that a reality, you left the East Coast. You left your career , Hope. To be rid of me?”
“You didn’t fit into how I’d always imagined my future.” He of all people should know the sanctity of plans. “I wanted to keep my life tidy and compartmentalized so I could keep powering on toward my dreams, but meeting you expanded my definition of happiness.”
“How is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not. It’s what kept us together for five years, despite my fear of ending up like my parents.” I don’t want to hurt him, but if I can’t make him understand, help myself understand, we don’t have a chance. “Moving in with you felt like our lives would be entwined in a way that would be too hard to untangle if I wanted another path. But the truth is, that was just on the outside. Inside, my heart was already tangled up with yours.”
I raise my eyes and find him leaning forward, attentive. Like he wants to hear, to listen. To understand. “I spent the last few years trying to untangle that knot, to get over you, only to come down here and realize I don’t want to.” Twisting the pendant on the chain, I say, “I don’t want to be free of these feelings for you.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and the weight of what I’ve confessed settles heavy on my heart, knowing he might not feel the same.
“Someday,” he says, and I wait, holding my breath. “Not now, but someday, I want to share a home with my wife.” The word doesn’t sound possessive from his lips, it sounds cherished. Loved. “And I value my own happiness too much to try this again, if that’s not what you want.”
His honesty, his ability to name his needs, after all this time, is exactly what I crave. To know that we’re both safe in this moment to be honest. To give each other’s feelings the consideration they deserve without lessening our own.
And I want to gift him honesty, the truth I’ve kept bottled up tight. “I would’ve been so much happier these past few years if I hadn’t tried to convince myself I didn’t want that same thing. With you.”
He looks up, sharply, and I find the courage to stand up and go to him, crouching down so that we’re face-to-face in the moonlight. “I punished myself, put my dreams on hold, just to prove I would’ve let you down. But you never tried to put borders on my dreams, all you’ve ever asked is to be a part of them. And now I’m not afraid to embrace that.”
I want to take his hands in mine, but not yet. Not until I know for sure. “I’m sorry for not owning up to how I felt. For not trying to work through things. But I’m here now, not just for my career, but for us. I want a full life with you, all of it.”
The barest of spaces exists between our lips. One movement and we’d be kissing. Every part of me—the scared part, the wounded part, the confident part, the yearning and hungry and needy parts—all of me wants to be with this man, to believe that things will be different this time.
Taking my hands in his, he leans in, and presses his lips to mine. Our mouths move against one another, giving and taking, and I lose myself in his touch. The kiss is pure tenderness and trust. Both of us know the stakes. Past, present, future, we’re trusting each other with our hearts, our hopes, our dreams.
He cups my face with his palms, thumbs skating along my skin. His touch is gentle, firm, coaxing...everything I’ve missed and everything I’ve wanted. His kisses are a promise. We have time, his pace says. We have each other, my kisses reply. The stars come out, moon rising, and we’re still here. Together.