Plus, Orion’s sister Brooklynn and his parents have more than welcomed me into the family.
I step to the edge. “This is a terrible idea.” I’m not exactly afraid of heights, but there is something about leaving the safety of the ground to free-fall.
Orion laughs and pulls me close to him. “You’ll be fine. Remember what we talked about. Jump out and breathe out. Keep your mouth closed. You’ll stay upright and the water is deep enough that you won’t hit bottom. It’s safe.”
He’s right. We’ve been practicing for this. It was my idea too. I started with the bow of the boat, and we’ve been working up to this. I rest my head on his shoulder and trace the outline of the tattoo on his left pec.
Six weeks ago, he came home with a bandage over it. I peppered him with questions for hours until it was time to take it off. He leaned against the counter in our bathroom, the windows open to the gulf breeze, while I revealed that he had orangeblossoms inked around the anchor. I’d looked at him, confused—what did it mean, Florida? That he liked my yard with its trees?
“It’s you, Carina.”
My eyes had welled up with tears, but neither of us moved to brush them away. Instead, I lifted up on my toes to kiss him. We’ve talked about marriage and kids and everything, but neither one of us is in a hurry. This is forever. We’re fine not putting additional external pressure on our relationship.
And I really don’t want to plan a wedding.
On the cliff, his thumb rubs on my rib cage, right below my bikini top. It’s where a week later, I came home with the Orion constellation, permanent on my skin.
He’s mine. Forever.
“Come on, princess. You can do this. Think how much you want to prove your bikini will stay in place,” he taunts.
It’s not real. He’s putting up a fight. I’ve always known the difference.
“Oh please, you want it to come off,” I respond.
“Of course I do. I always want that. But I can get it off myself. You don’t have to jump,” he assures me. “It’s a beautiful view. We can hike back down and call it a day.”
“No, I want to.” I pull away and step to the edge. I need to do this now and not wait any longer.
He grabs my hand and looks at me. “On the count of three. One.”
“Two,” I continue.
“Three.”
We jump.
I let go of his hand as we fall—the momentary weightlessness taking over everything.
I hit the water faster than I expect, suddenly disoriented. I find the light and kick toward the surface. Once my head is abovewater, I look around for Orion. He surfaces a second later, a few feet away. When he sees me, he swims for me, pulling me against him so my legs wrap around his waist.
“You good?” He brushes my hair out of my face, his eyes searching mine for any sign I’m not okay.
My heart races, from the adrenaline of the jump and from him so near to me. I’ll never get used to it. I don’t want to. I want to always appreciate him in my life. I almost threw everything away for my fears. I won’t do that ever again.
“I’m good. I can float on my own.” I won’t fight him on this, other than this performative protest. He needs to hold me so he knows he didn’t push me too hard.
“You’re amazing.” The awe in his voice is obvious. This shouldn’t be a big moment for us—it’s just another day of sand and salt water. But it’s us and our love and we’ll never let it go.
“I love you.” I kiss him.
“I love you too. Boat?” It’s not a question of safety. It’s how fast can we be naked with each other? How fast can we be wild, vulnerable, and free?
“Boat,” I agree. I disentangle from him, and we swim for where theTwisted Riggingis anchored.
It’s not his home anymore, but one of ours. The place where we first came together and one of the places where we will always return. He reaches her before I do, and waits for me to haul myself up before getting out of the water himself. He heads for the cabin knowing I’ll follow him anywhere.
I take a moment to run my hand over the helm. Orion has given me so much since we’ve been together. Never once has he disappointed me.
I follow him below, past the pictures of him sailing in Greece and my yoga retreat in Thailand, to our cabin. Knowing the next memory we make will be my favorite.
Until the next one.
