Once I’m sitting, it only takes Colton a second to make the switch with his seat, and he lowers himself into it slowly, stretching his legs out next to mine on the raised section between us. The kayak bobs gently as we lie there settling in, the lengths of our legs brushed right up against each other. Heat courses up mine, despite the coolness of the night air.
“Now we have the best seats in the house,” Colton says. Red light explodes above us, making him look as flushed as I feel.
It takes an effort to pull my eyes from him, but I lie back all the way and look up. The next firework shoots high, a vertical white streak in the sky above us, and after the tiniest delay when I wonder if maybe it won’t ignite, brilliant blue light explodes above us, then falls, soft and slow, before it vanishes into the air around us.
We lie there watching the fireworks explode and fall around us, and I can feel the boom-crackle of them in my chest, and the heat of his legs tangled up with mine, and with each moment that ticks by, something else grows stronger. A thing I couldn’t have predicted, and now something I can’t control or explain. It’s a pull I don’t want to fight anymore—I can’t fight anymore.
The boat rocks gently as I sit up, and I’m not surprised when Colton is there already. I know he feels it too. We sit there, wordless, face-to-face in the glow above and below us. So much light after so much dark.
He raises a hand to my cheek, weaving his fingers back into my hair, and then he runs his thumb, feather-soft, over the tiny scar on my bottom lip.
That moment I first saw him and our worlds collided comes rushing back. Sends shivers all through me. I lean into the warmth of his touch, exhale a shaky breath as I bring my fingertips to his chest.
“Quinn, I . . .” He whispers the words, unfinished, into my mouth as the space between us disappears and our lips finally touch. A thousand fireworks explode inside me, and I feel them in him too, in his lips on mine, and his hands in my hair, and the way we pull each other closer.
Everything else falls away, and in this moment, when we touch, we are light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can’t utter.”
—James Earl Jones
AS WE PADDLE back in the darkness, the only thing I can see in front of me is the line I’ve crossed—and it’s blinding. I can still feel Colton’s lips on mine, and the want in his touch, strong and gentle at the same time. And I can hear the sound of my name, whispered on his lips. But the thing I see when I close my eyes is his face, in that moment just before that kiss. Open. Trusting. Unaware of the truths I’ve danced around, truths that feel like they’ve grown into lies now because I’ve left them unspoken for this long.
We paddle in a silence that feels more tense than comfortable to me, and I wonder as we make our way over the water if Colton senses it too. When we reach the shore, I’m positive he must. He doesn’t say anything but shoots me a quick smile as we lift the kayak together and carry it, dripping and cold, over our heads to his bus. After we load it up, he reaches into his backpack and hands me a dry towel. “Here you go,” he says. “I’ll be— I’ll let you change.”
“Thank you,” I say, and he disappears around to the driver’s side to give me space.
As I stand there alone, the air feels colder than it did out on the water. Even with the towel wrapped tightly around me, I shiver as I peel off my bathing suit beneath it and fumble with shaking hands for my dress. Through the windows, I can see Colton’s outline as he pulls his rash guard up over his head and reaches in, to his seat, for his shirt. I look down, try to focus on making my fingers button Ryan’s dress, but Colton’s door opens and I catch a glimpse of him in the dome light, hair messy from the salty breeze, cheeks flushed with the cool of the night, lips that tasted of both when he kissed me. A light, fluttery feeling rises in my chest, sends a rush of warmth all through me as his door closes and the cab goes dark again. I take a deep breath, then exhale long and slow. I don’t have any other choice but to tell him—especially when I feel like I do right now.
I finish dressing slowly, deliberately. Wrap and rewrap my wet bathing suit in the towel. Take another deep breath, close my eyes, and replay that kiss one more time before I reach for the handle on the passenger door. When I open it, Colton gives me one look, then turns the key and reaches for the heater knob on the dash. “I’m sorry—I should’ve gotten the heater going. You look cold.”
I nod as I get in, cupping my hands to my mouth like the cold is to blame rather than what I’m about to say. Then I shut the door and swallow hard. Just say it. Tell him.
“Colton, there’s something—”
“You wanna go spa-hopping?”
We speak at the same time, our words overlapping, intercepting each other.
He laughs. “Sorry. You first.”
“I . . .” I hesitate, and the little nerve I’ve worked up drains right out of me when a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Go what?” I ask.
“Spa-hopping,” he says, eyes shining in the glow from the dash. “The Sandcastle Inn has a good one on the roof, and I know the code. We could get in for a little while. Warm up.”
He sounds so hopeful that I let myself picture, for a second, sitting in a rooftop spa with him, steam rising up into the night air, hot water swirling around us, and—
“I can’t,” I say too quickly. “I—I need to go home.” I reach over my shoulder for my seat belt and click it in like a final decision.
“I don’t understand,” Colton says. The smile is gone from his voice.
His eyes search for some reason for the way I’ve gone from so close to so faraway, drifting in the dark. I look down at my hands in my lap, and I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything.
An alarm beeps from his phone on the dash, and he reaches out and silences it without even looking at it.
I glance at the phone. Wish he wouldn’t ignore it, because I know it’s a med reminder.