Well, that’s nice.
“It’s just so . . . endless, you know?” I say, peering over the side of the boat at the inky water. “Who knows what’s going on down there?” I shudder. “Freaks me out.”
She leans over the edge too. Then she links her arm with mine and sits back, pulling me with her. We settle against each other, skin to skin.
“Just pretend we’re on the lighthouse, the endless sky above us,” she says. “Same sort of thing, right?”
“There aren’t live and curious creatures with teeth floating in the sky.”
“There might be in fantasy novels.”
I laugh. “So I should pretend we’re in a fantasy novel?”
She shrugs. “A fantasy of sorts.”
We go quiet after that, something both thick and airy hovering between us. The Atlantic tosses us this way and that, and I can’t tell if my stomach is fluttering from the motion or from having Eva’s body smooshed up against mine in this tiny space.
She takes one of my hands, sliding her fingers down my amethyst-hued nails. Hers are still dark eggplant, the tips just beginning to chip.
“Why purple?” she asks.
A knot forms in my throat, a knee-jerk reaction. “Maggie didn’t tell you?”
Eva shakes her head and I’m weirdly relieved Mom didn’t share this with her.
“It’s always been our color,” I say quietly as Eva continues to smooth the pads of her thumb over each of my fingers. “Mine and Mom’s. She started painting my nails purple when I was really little.”
“Why?”
So I tell her about the wishing. How Mom always said that we wish on our fingertips, reaching out for what we want. Whatever that is. Mom’s told me more than once that she loves purple because it’s this beautiful mix of blue’s calm stability and red’s fierce energy. Funny how prophetic Mom was all those years ago. How wise about herself, about me, about us together.
Eva frowns a little but continues to hold my hand, rubbing circles over my nails much like she did that first day we met on the beach. The sky around us grows darker, the sun slips lower, the current slaps almost angrily against the boat. I hear Macon’s frustrated groan, followed by Luca snorting a triumphant laugh and Kimber’s clear voice cheering him on. Any minute the fireworks will start, filling the wide expanse behind us with impossible color.
But for the moment, it’s just me and Eva, my hand in hers.
“Your freckles are more noticeable after being in the sun,” she says, touching my nose with her forefinger, then tracing the little brown dots over both cheeks.
“Yeah, that happens,” I say, dumbly. My heart feels huge—?literally a ginormous hunk of beating muscle in my chest. I’m sure she can hear it as she scoots even closer, as close as when we lie in my bed after being on top of the lighthouse. But this feels different. Those nights are more of a comfortable intimacy, while this crackles with energy. With possibility.
“What are you doing?” I ask when her finger drifts from my cheeks, down my throat and around, her palm hot on the back of my neck. Friends, I say to myself. Just friends.
“Making a wish,” she whispers, her breath fanning over my mouth. “May I?”
I barely nod before her lips press into mine. A gasp escapes my throat, but the good kind. The finally kind. The not just friends kind. My free hand reaches out to her, framing her face and pulling her as close as I can possibly get her on the end of this boat. Our mouths open, letting each other in. She tastes like beer and Eva, like wild summer nights. Her fingers dance up and down my arms, and I can’t stop touching her face, gliding my hands over her hair, letting my nails drift down her neck. God, her skin. It’s impossibly soft, smooth but for the goose bumps ignited by my touch. I could do this all night, wrap myself around her and never come up for air. Who the hell needs air anyway?
We break apart for a minute, and she laughs, hiding her face in the slope of my neck.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” she says, her words tickling my collarbone.
“What, kiss me?”
“Yes, oh my god.” She stays pressed against my throat, and I sort of like her there, burrowing into me like I’m a safe space. I keep my arms around her, dipping my head so I’m leaning into her, too. And it is safe. Terrifying and safe.
“I’m glad you did,” I say.
“I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, after that night in the tree, we sort of fought. I wasn’t sure you wanted to.”
“I do. I’ve been waiting for that for two damn weeks.”
She lifts her head. “Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I think we should do it again.”
One corner of her beautiful mouth tilts into a grin. “I think so too.”
So we do, this time kissing deeper, longer, harder, then softer. Her tongue traces my lower lip, her palms gliding up my thighs while my thumbs sweep over her delicate collarbone. Everything is bright and warm, the entire world turning electric under her touch. My chest feels strangely tight, but in a good way, like a deep ache that’s trying to break apart.
Behind us, a series of brilliant purple and gold sparks ignite the now-black sky, like wishes blinking in and out. We both startle, our laughs touching each other’s mouths. Arcing her neck, Eva stares up at the colors exploding into the sky, and she’s so freaking gorgeous, I have to press my lips to her throat. Like, have to. She sucks in a breath and curls her arm around my shoulder, her fingertips hot on my skin.
“Come do something with me,” she says, unraveling herself and reaching for the seats behind us.
“I’m pretty damn happy right here.”
She jerks her head toward the ocean. “I think I just spotted a humpback.”
“Oh god, let’s go.”
We laugh and pull each other up, keeping our hands on backs and arms as we climb over the seats and back into the boat. When the others come into view, Luca glances at us from where he’s cuddled up with Kimber at the bow, a curious glint in his eyes. I smile at him. He smiles back, but it’s small, and a sliver of unease cuts into all this ridiculous happy.
Eva doesn’t even notice. She disappears below deck while I wander over to everyone else, wondering why she pulled us away from our little slice of paradise. More fireworks explode in the sky, so I focus on the flowery shapes, the shimmery reflections in the water.
Soon Eva’s at my side again, handing me a small green bottle of Miracle Bubbles. She’s holding a long, cylindrical tube of the same stuff, a huge wand slicing through its blue liquid center.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
She unscrews the lid to her bubbles and pulls out the wand, a soft and wistful expression on her face. “My mom and I used to do this. Every Fourth, we’d go up to the roof of our apartment. From there we could see the fireworks over the East River, and we’d blow bubbles into the sky.”
“Why?”