Epilogue #2
“I’m pretty sure I deserve partial credit for it. I dreamed about this so many times, someone stole that colour right from my brain.”
“You’re acting like you personally arranged it.”
“I might have,” I said. “You don’t know.”
He huffed a quiet laugh beside me.
“You’ve taken credit for worse.”
“Name one.”
“You tried to claim responsibility for that sunset in Tofino.”
“That sunset needed a spokesperson.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling.
“I’m just saying,” I added, “that documentary did not lie.”
“You were skeptical.”
“I’ve been hurt by travel photos before.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It’s self-preservation.”
By the time the ferry docked, I had already kicked off my shoes.
Callum noticed immediately.
“You’re not even going to pretend to ease into it?”
“It’s water,” I said. “You get in.”
“That’s a reckless philosophy.”
“Watch me.”
I walked straight towards the sea, throwing off my dress and bag onto the beach as I moved.
The cold hit in stages, ankles, knees, waist, and then I dove under before my brain could argue about it. When I surfaced again, the water was bright and clear and perfect, the rocks below sharp through the blue.
Callum was still standing near the shore, studying it like it might negotiate.
“You’re thinking too much,” I called.
“I’m respecting the temperature.”
“You’re stalling.”
He stepped in finally, wincing once the water reached his waist.
“This is aggressively cold.”
“It’s refreshing.”
“That’s a generous interpretation.”
“Commit,” I told him.
He sighed and went under.
When he came back up a second later, he pushed his hair back and blinked at the horizon like something profound had just happened.
“Well,” he said.
I grinned.
“Exactly.”
He looked around at the water, then back at me.
“Alright,” he admitted. “You win.”
“Of course I do.”
“We should live here.”
“That’s a big leap.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re saying this because you just survived the water.”
“I’m saying this because this place makes a strong argument.”
I laughed.
“You get one vacation before you start planning our new life somewhere.”
“I’m not planning,” he said. “I’m considering.”
“That’s the first step.”
He didn’t argue that.
We swam out past the other people on the shore into the quieter water and floated on our backs in the sun, the sounds from the beach fading into something distant and soft. I closed my eyes and let the water carry me, warm sun on my face, cool sea at my shoulders.
For a while neither of us said anything.
Then Callum’s voice drifted across the water.
“Where’d you go just now?”
“Nowhere,” I said.
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I mean it,” I said. “My brain is completely empty.”
“That must be nice.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“I’m jealous.”
“What are you thinking about?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Dinner,” he said finally.
I laughed.
“That was fast.”
“I like planning ahead.”
“You’re on vacation.”
“I’m a man with priorities.”
“Food being the top one.”
“Obviously.”
I turned my head toward him.
“And tomorrow?”
“What about it?”
“You’re already thinking about it.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s illegal on day one of an island.”
“Someone has to be responsible.”
“You are literally floating in the sea.”
“Responsibly.”
I laughed again, the sound echoing over the water, and he smiled back at me.
For a moment we just floated there, the sky wide above us and the Adriatic stretching out in every direction.
“Five years,” I said quietly.
Callum glanced over.
“Yeah.”
“That feels strange.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds like a long time when you say it out loud.”
He drifted a little closer, the water carrying him until his shoulder bumped mine.
“It doesn’t feel long,” he said.
“No.”
“It just feels like us.”
I turned onto my side to face him.
“You did good,” I said.
“With the trip. With everything.”
He studied me for a second, like he wasn’t sure how serious I meant it.
Then his expression softened.
“I’m just keeping up with you,” he said.
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is.”
I swam the last bit of distance between us and wrapped my arms loosely around his shoulders in the water.
“I guess this means you’re keeping me, huh,” I said.
He slid an arm around my waist easily, steadying us both.
“Best decision I ever made.”
And floating there in the blue Adriatic water on our fifth anniversary, being exactly who we were together, it felt, in the quietest, most certain way, like more than enough.
· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·
That evening the hotel room was warm and the windows were open to the sound of the harbour below.
The light going soft and golden across the water made everything feel like a dream.
Callum was standing by the window, his silhouette framed by the dying sun, and my heart ached with how much I loved him.
He turned then, as if he'd felt my gaze, and the look in his eyes stole the air from my lungs.
He crossed the room in three long strides, his movements fluid and deliberate.
His hand came up to cup my cheek, his palm warm and rough against my skin.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone, a slow, gentle caress that sent shivers down my spine.
It chased away the last of the evening chill, leaving only warmth in its wake.
“You're staring,” he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through me, a promise of what was to come. I could feel the pull of him, a magnetic force that drew me closer. I was powerless to resist it, and I didn't want to.
“Can't help it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. It was thick with the emotion clogging my throat, a testament to the depth of my feelings. I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in to capture my lips in a kiss.
It started soft, sweet, just the gentle press of his mouth against mine.
It was a question I was more than willing to answer.
But it didn't stay that way for long. I parted my lips, a silent invitation, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine as he pulled me flush against his chest.
The world narrowed to the space between us, to the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of his skin. I could feel the steady, rapid beat of his heart under my palm. It was a rhythm that matched my own, a frantic drumbeat of desire.
His hands roamed my back, tracing the delicate curve of my spine.
One slid down to cup my ass, pulling me even closer until there was no space left between us.
A soft sigh escaped me as I felt his hardness pressing against my belly.
It was a solid, undeniable proof of his desire, and I rocked my hips instinctively, needing more, needing everything.
“Ginny,” he breathed against my lips, his voice thick with desire. My name was a prayer on his lips, a sacred utterance that made my heart swell. His fingers tangled in my hair, holding me in place as he kissed me again, hungrier this time, more demanding.
I could feel the heat building between us, a slow, delicious fire that promised to consume us both.
I welcomed it, craved it, wanted to be consumed by it.
My hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, my fingers clumsy with want.
He helped me, his movements just as urgent as mine, and soon the fabric was open.
My palms were pressed flat against the warm, bare skin of his chest. I could feel the crisp hair that dusted his pecs, the hard planes of his muscles. I reveled in the feel of him, in the way his body responded to my touch.
I broke the kiss to press my lips to his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin. I felt him shudder as my tongue traced a path lower, exploring the landscape of his chest. Callum groaned, his head falling back as I explored his chest with my mouth.
His hands slid up under the hem of my sundress, caressing the sensitive skin of my thighs. I gasped as his fingers brushed against the edge of my underwear. My body arched into his touch, a silent plea for more.
He chuckled, a low, sexy sound that vibrated through me. His fingers continued their upward journey, tracing the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist. I was lost in the sensation, lost in him.
“Bed,” he commanded, his voice rough, raw with need. It was a command I was more than happy to obey. He guided me backward until my legs hit the edge of the mattress, and I sat down, my eyes never leaving his.
He knelt before me, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. He slowly lifted my dress, his eyes never leaving mine. My breath hitched as his eyes swept over me, darkening with a hunger that made my own desire spike. He looked at me like I was a feast, and he was a starving man.
When the dress was finally discarded, he leaned forward to press a trail of kisses up my stomach. His tongue dipped into my navel, and I squirmed, my hands tangling in his hair. He worked his way higher, his lips and tongue mapping a path to my breasts.
He took one peaked nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. I cried out, my back arching off the bed. He paid the same attention to its twin, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
“Callum, please,” I begged, my hips lifting off the bed. I was already so wet, so ready for him, and I needed more. I needed all of him.
He chuckled softly, the sound a low, sexy rumble that vibrated through me. “Patience, love,” he murmured, but I could hear the strain in his voice. He settled between my thighs, his fingers parting my folds, and I cried out as his thumb circled my clit.
He leaned down then, and the first touch of his tongue against my sensitive flesh had me seeing stars. He worked me with his mouth, his tongue and fingers driving me higher and higher. I was writhing beneath him, my body taut with need.