22. Sutton
22
SUTTON
I stick my hands in my pockets just so I won’t reach out for Laine’s hand while we walk to our campsite. Lately, fighting the urge to touch her feels like I’m fighting to keep magnets apart.
Mom and Frankie really went all out. Our campsite is complete with a prepped fire pit, an overflowing picnic basket, a red cooler, battery-powered string lights, a deck of cards, a mound of pillows and blankets, and two sets of folded flannel pajamas.
Laine stares at the campsite and a wide, open-mouthed smile spread across her balled-up cheeks. “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” Her expression falters. “I’m starting to feel guilty about this whole fake-dating thing.”
My heart sinks. It’s impossible not to feel guilty about lying to my family, but that was the last thing on my mind when I saw the surprise that was left for us. Selfishly, all I could think about was spending an evening with Laine, away from the lies.
“Don’t feel bad,” I urge, planting my feet in the dirt so I don’t gravitate toward her subconsciously. “You only did it to help me. Besides, I’m sure my mom and Frankie loved organizing this for us.”
“Only because they love seeing you happy and in love,” Laine says, laughing humorlessly.
“I am happy,” I insist. “Your friend is the greatest thing I’ve had the privilege of being.”
Laine rolls her eyes but that smile—that irresistible smile—is back.
“Trust me,” I say, “dating or not, there’s not any other way I’d want to spend my evening.”
I open my mouth to say more—what I might say, however, I’m not sure—but Laine’s cheeks redden to the color of unripe chokecherries, and she dips down to inspect the picnic basket. “I’m starving,” she says, clearly trying to reroute the conversation.
We graze on the cheese board and roast hot dogs over the fire pit. We talk about our childhoods, somehow able to conjure up new stories we haven’t yet shared with each other after all this time. We stare at the flames flickering between us. But no matter how hard I try to keep a safe distance, no matter how hard I try to avoid staring at her, no matter how many times I remind myself that we aren’t a “we” at all, my feelings are fighting under the surface. They’ve been bubbling there all week. Really, they’ve been there for months.
“Sutton?” Laine asks, her voice thick. She stares up at me with those deep brown eyes, and every other color fades away. I must take too long to answer, because she continues after a quick clearing of her throat. “Is that safe to ride in?”
I follow her gaze. My old red canoe is sitting near the edge of the water. Immediately, I’m on my feet, eager to give Laine anything she wants. I hold my hand out to help her up from her stump. She takes it, but even after she’s standing, we keep our hands intertwined. We pause for a few slow moments, staring silently at one another, each of us daring the other to pull their hand away.
Neither of us does.
I lead Laine by the hand, my fingers tightening around hers. Not for the sake of keeping up appearances. Just for the sake of loving the feeling of her hand in mine. I steal a glance at her, catching the way her eyes catch the light of the setting sun, glowing like molten amber.
After a minute of quick instructions at the water’s edge, Laine kicks off her boots and steps gingerly into the canoe, her laugh echoing softly as the boat sways beneath her. She sits on the front bench, looking back at me with a playful glint in her eyes, a dare hidden in her smile. I grin and roll up my jeans so I can push the canoe into the water, the coolness of the lake licking at my calves before I leap in behind her. The canoe cuts through the mirrored colors of the sunset, turning the lake into a canvas of pinks, purples, and deepening blues. When we get to the middle of the lake, Laine rests her oar against her lap and stares up, watching the sky darken. She looks back at me, a content smile tipping her full lips.
“This is nice,” she murmurs, her voice accompanied only by the chirping of crickets and the sound of water waving against the canoe. She looks back up at the sky, and I watch her study the stars that spot the violet backdrop, now reflecting in her eyes. I’ve never seen her so at ease.
A breeze flows between us, whipping a piece of Laine’s hair into her face. Instinctively, I reach out, tucking it behind her ear. She turns to me, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the seconds slow.
A crease forms between Laine’s eyebrows. I rub at it with my thumb until it fades before tracing my fingers down along the delicate line of her jaw. Laine’s skin is velvet under my touch. Her breath catches, just for a second, and her lips part slightly, as if she wants to say something but isn’t quite sure how.
“Laine,” I whisper, unsure of the right words to follow with.
She looks down, spinning her rings around her fingers restlessly.
This is it.
I lean forward, giving in to that magnetic pull, heart hammering in my chest. For months I’ve tried to keep myself away from Laine. But everything in me begs for her. I search for something in her eyes that might mirror what I’m feeling. Instead, Laine’s eyes, still on the bottom of the canoe, widen. Her mouth opens centimeter by centimeter as genuine fear flashes across her face.
Oh no. Too far.
Immediately, I pull myself back, a wave of ice flashing over my body. “I’m so sorry. I thought maybe you felt—”
“What is that?” Laine interrupts, her voice high. I follow her gaze to the back of the canoe, directly behind me, where a pile of rope sits. “I… I think I saw something move.”
I narrow my eyes at her, then at the rope, wondering if this is some kind of deflection. Then I see it. Just a hint of movement, something small, slithering out from beneath the pile of rope, moving a few inches toward Laine. Thankfully, I see its familiar dark-green body and unmistakable yellow stripes running vertically along its body. It flicks its forked tongue out, and Laine recoils.
I chuckle, trying to reassure her. “It’s just a garter snake. Completely harmless. We used to catch them all the time growing up.”
But Laine remains unconvinced. She scoots back until she’s at the edge of her seat and pulls her knees up to her chest, getting as far away from the snake as possible in the canoe. Her face pales. “Harmless? Sutton, it’s still a snake,” she protests, her voice pitched with nervous laughter.
“It can’t hurt you.”
“It has teeth, doesn’t it?” Laine asks, frozen in place.
“Okay, okay,” I say, smiling, “I’ll grab it. Just…stay calm.”
I lean forward, inching out my hand toward the snake, trying to grab it by the back of its head like I’ve done hundreds of times before. But just as my fingers near, the snake makes a break for it. In one swift, sinuous motion, it slithers away from me—and straight toward Laine.
Laine’s eyes widen even more, and she lets out a shriek that would wake the dead. “Oh no, no, no, no!”
“It’s fine!” I try to say, but she’s not listening. She scrambles around in her seat, her eyes locked on the snake like it’s about to grow wings as the boat rocks beneath us.
I lurch forward, attempting to grab the snake again, but it slithers out of my grasp. Laine jumps onto her seat, trying to get as far from the snake as possible. The canoe rocks with the movement, and she loses her balance.
With a yelp, she pitches backward, flailing her arms in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Her hand reaches out and grabs the side of the canoe for support. My dive toward her is fruitless. She tumbles into the lake, her hand catching the canoe in a last-ditch effort to save herself. Instead, with me already halfway out of the canoe, she tips it over with her. I barely have time to register what’s happening before I’m plunging into the frigid water.
I come up sputtering, gasping for air, and immediately search for Laine. Soon, she bobs up beside me, hair plastered to her face. For a second, she just stares at me, her expression utter shock.
“Laine,” I pant, swimming toward her, “are you okay?”
And then she laughs—a belly-deep sound that bounces across the lake, pure and infectious. That continues on until my leg grazes against hers, and she screams again, following it up with another fit of laughter once she realizes it was just me.
“Garter snakes can’t swim anyway, right?” she asks, breathless.
“Right,” I lie, knowing fully well that the snake could be swimming right under our feet. She doesn’t need to know that.
Laine watches as I flip the canoe right-side up, her breaths still quick with adrenaline.
“You want me to help you back in?” I ask.
She says nothing. Instead, she shakes her head to the side just once. Her open-mouth smile is wide and a bit dazed. Slowly, as she stares at me, it fades.
“You okay?” I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Laine nods, her eyes locked onto mine. “Yeah,” she breathes, and there’s a vulnerability in her voice that I’ve never heard before. “I’m better than okay.”
We tread water, face to face, close enough for our limbs to collide as we move. The coolness of the water is invigorating, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of her presence. Laine's eyes hold mine, my chest tightens. Almost involuntarily, I drift toward her. And it seems as though she’s doing the same, because soon we’re nothing but a tangle of limbs.
I thought I knew what I wanted.
I wanted to be an editor. I wanted to be in the city.
But now, it’s hard to imagine a world outside of this moment.
Now, all I know is that I want her .
We linger for a time, both of us knowing the inevitable is coming. Both of us too scared to accept it just yet. I’m not sure how long we stay in that motion, dangerously close as we tread water. It could be seconds or minutes. Eventually, one of my arms finds its way around her torso. I have to kick my legs fiercely to stay afloat. It’s worth it when Laine pulls against me so close that even the icy water can’t slip between us. She tips her forehead closer, and I take the invitation, furthering it as I drag my mouth against the spot where her jaw and neck meet. She shudders.
Her hands press against my back, holding me against her, and my mouth melts against hers. The heat behind her kiss courses through my body. We almost dip under the surface of the lake, both of us more interested in each other than we are in staying afloat. In a final moment of clarity, I tilt back, holding Laine against my chest, and kick us toward the shore.
“What about the canoe?” she murmurs, breathless.
“Later.” That one word is all I can think to say.
I always imagined that kissing Laine— really kissing her—would be like a fire hose to flames, dampening my ever-growing want for her.
I was wrong. It’s like gasoline to a fire.
As soon as my feet touch the rocks along the bottom of the lake, I turn my attention fully back to Laine. She’s still unable to get a good footing, so I hold her up around me, looking to somehow get closer to her. Gone is caution and subtlety, the worries and anxiety.
My smile interrupts our fervent kisses.
Laine pulls back just enough to mirror my expression. Our chests rise and fall rapidly against each other. My brain is static.
“Laine,” I whisper, my voice raspy. “I can't pretend anymore.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, voice as bubbly as ever.
“I want to be with you. Really, wholly… truly be with you.”
Laine's eyes widen in the moonlight's glow. Her lips part, but no words escape. Her grip on me tightens, and through our wet shirts, I can feel her heart pounding as wildly as mine.
“I mean it, Laine,” I continue, my voice heavy with the raw words I've held back for too long. “I want to be with you,” I repeat, my voice set. “I can't keep pretending like what I feel for you is just an act.”
Laine’s eyes glisten. “Sutton,” she finally says, her voice filled with emotion. “You don’t want to be with me.” She looks up at the sky, as if the right words to say were written in the stars. “I don’t even know what I want in life. I’m a mess.”
With my thumb, I tip Laine’s chin down, studying her, appreciating her. “What a beautiful mess.”
With all the feelings I've harbored for Laine surging through me, I lean in and kiss her again. Laine's arms tighten around me, pulling me even closer, as if she's afraid that I'll disappear. I strengthen my hold, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her, the sheer perfection of her.
The crickets and owls continue their song, and the lake laps gently at our legs, as if nature itself is celebrating with us.