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“We should go night swimming later,” I say as though the act is entirely daring and dangerous, even if it’s not. I lick my sticky fingers. “We can play sharks and minnows.”
He just kisses the top of my head and then he opens the black iron-gate. This is when I realize we’re leaving the pool area and heading towards the woods. I hesitate, and he clasps my hand, watching me carefully. It’s not like I’ve never been in the backyard woods before. It’s just that we rarely go out at night, at least not without a flashlight.
I glance back at the house for Coconut. She’s sitting patiently by the glass door, eyes on me.
“I can go get her,” Ryke says. He’s not put off by the idea of bringing her along on our mysterious adventure.
I bite my lip in thought and look between Ryke and our husky. I trust Ryke more than any other person, and while Coconut is extra security, I don’t want to rely on her all the time. I’d rather her be more of a friend than a lifeline.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m fine.”
His eyes flicker to the darkened woods, filled with pine and spruce trees. I can’t really read his expression, but it’s like his thoughts are churning hard. “We can go back inside if you—”
“No.” I refuse this option and then tug him forward. “Let’s go. An adventure awaits.”
He easily catches up to my side and then wraps his arm around my shoulders. The grass is damp from the sprinklers, and in the dark, I can barely make out the tree line where the woods begin.
I step on something…strange. I stop and nudge it with my foot. A cord? “I stepped on something,” I tell him.
Ryke bends down. “Hold on.”
I wait.
And then, suddenly, dangling bulbs illuminate. What.
Rounder and bigger than Christmas lights.
Dozens of them. All at once.
My lips part. They’re strung horizontally along trunks, creating a bright pathway into the thicket of trees. Leading somewhere.
I lose my voice to the beautiful atmosphere, like something from a fairytale. Lightning bugs even blink in and out tonight. I notice the orange extension cord beneath my feet, extending back into the pool area. The switchbox is beside Ryke’s boots.
He stands and gauges my reaction.
I’m stunned to silence. I wouldn’t consider Ryke a romantic Scrooge. He sweeps me off my feet in his own way, packing picnic lunches, riding to the mountains for the weekend. Taking an early morning dip in a hot spring. Making love on the roof.
It’s all very romantic to me, but this is on another level. This took major planning and time. It’s not my birthday. It’s not Valentine’s Day. But I have been sad lately, and Ryke would put in more effort if he thought it’d cheer me up.
Mission success. I practically float forward in wonderment, my body and spirit weightless and airy. I glance at him again. “Where does it lead?”
He takes off my baseball hat and messes my hair with affection. “I’ll show you.” He sets my hat back, and then he guides me straight ahead. “Be fucking careful where you step.”
I forgot to put on shoes, and he curses beneath his breath, pissed that he didn’t remember this detail. He even looks back at the house.
“I don’t need shoes. It’s mainly pine needles.” He’s really trying tonight. I attempt to peer forward as we follow the lit path, weaving between trees. I contemplate running ahead and having him run after me, but he seems more nervous than usual, his fingers constantly combing through his hair.
Maybe he’s really aroused, and he’s worried that I won’t be tonight. “I want to have sex,” I tell him bluntly. I do want to, not just to please him but because the kitchen make out session ended quickly and my blood is still pumping.
His brows scrunch, caught off guard. It takes him a second to regroup, and he asks what he always does, “For me or for you?” For me is the right answer.
I’ve been known to try to please him when I’m not feeling it as much, my sex drive never as high as his. The problem: Ryke is really turned off if I’m not receiving pleasure, or at least on my way to being aroused.
It’s just difficult sometimes to reach that place, but I know he’d rather not have sex if I’m not into it. I love that he cares so much about what I feel.
“For both of us,” I say truthfully.
He searches my eyes for a second and then nods. I get the sense that he wasn’t even thinking about sex until I brought it up. He kisses my cheek, the one with the long scar, and then we step into a circular clearing, the bulbs forming a border around the outside trees.
I can’t miss what lies in the middle. Pink rose petals strewn over feather-light bedding: a white comforter with white fluffy pillows. All raised off the ground like an air mattress rests beneath.
I detach from Ryke, nearing it in a daze. A box of expensive chocolates sits right beside binoculars. I look up, the stars twinkling, perfectly clear.
I inhale the fresh, crisp air, crickets chirruping in the distance. It’s magical. “You did all this yourself?” I wonder, still scanning the lights and chocolates.
“I had help.”
He had help. My sisters, I realize. Lo and Connor. They were all in on this. I think…maybe, I’m beginning to have an idea why now. Why today.
I slowly turn to face Ryke. I detect the earnestness in his gaze, in his opened stance, and our pasts seem to rise from the grave. Two people who weren’t allowed to love each other. Two people who now unapologetically do.
He walks towards me, my heart racing with his lengthy stride. I watch his hand disappear into his pocket, and I can’t speak, a soulful force tugging locked parts of me.
For a rare moment, I am utterly still.
“I’ve been alone for most of my life,” Ryke starts. I hang on every word. He’s almost twenty-seven. I can see the hard, lonely years behind his eyes, but he never wears exhaustion. Ryke belongs with nature, able to withstand the seasons and time just like the rocks he climbs. He keeps going, he keeps moving, and he picks everyone up when they’ve fallen behind.
It’s this unyielding strength that I feel now, drawing us closer.
“And then I met you,” he says huskily. He holds my face with his large, calloused hand. I really love those hands. He pauses to gather his thoughts, and the longer he takes, the more my eyes begin to well.
“I made your life crazy,” I whisper.
He nods like it’s a good thing. “Yeah, Dais. You made it fucking crazy, and I’ve been so crazy in love with you.” He breathes deeply with me. Every time he pauses, our gazes roam each other, saying just as much in silence as we do in words.
His fingers brush through the side of my hair, skimming my ear. He removes my baseball cap again, this time stuffing it in his back pocket.
“In college,” he says, “I used to want weeks to myself. I used to just fucking check out and leave.”
My lips lift, remembering him telling me how he’d go climbing and turn off his cellphone for a few days, so no one from college bothered him. So he was mentally at peace, just for a while anyway.
He grew up relying on himself. He grew up in solitude. Being around people, constantly, gave him a headache back then. I can understand wanting to be away from all the noise. Modeling was like that for me. I just wanted out, to stop. And breathe.
After another moment, I can tell he’s gathered his thoughts, focused and assured. I rise on the tips of my toes, like I can reach his voice, like I can meet his love head-on.
“I go two days without seeing you, Dais, and it fucking kills me. I never thought I’d love someone this way.” His hard eyes almost soften. “I never thought I could, but you’ve made me love my life more than I ever fucking have. I can’t even imagine spending the rest without you.”
I’m filled with earth-shattering sentiments that vibrate my bones, my legs weak but my body weightless.
He removes his hand from his jeans, revealing a black box. And I suddenly worry—I clasp my hands around his.
“Wait,” I say, my stomach in knots.
Ryke pales, more than I’ve ever seen from him. He’s frozen cold, and a pain already twists in my core, burrowing through me. I never want to be the one that hurts him, but I also can’t bar him from a fulfilled life either.
“You want a family,” I remind Ryke. My voice breaks at family. I blink once, and the suppressed tears slide down my cheeks. Hot trails, dripping off my jaw and chin.
His features toughen, making sense of why I stopped him now. “Don’t, Daisy.”
“I may not be able to give you that—”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he says passionately.
