“Don’t laugh at me!” I say and playfully swat at him. “No one has ever done anything this nice for me before.” I dab at my eyes and cheeks, hoping my makeup is as waterproof as it claims to be.
“Well, you deserve it,” he says. “You deserve every good thing.”
He presses his lips to my forehead and leads me down to the end of the dock, where the captain greets us and helps get us loaded onto the boat and seated on a small bench. He tucks a blanket around us and hands us life vests to wear until we’re anchored.
The captain sails the boat out into the ocean, the blue water sparkling with the evening sun. We pass a number of boats anchored for guests to go swimming or scuba diving, and fewer boats heading back toward the marina. A number of small vessels seem to be headed in the same direction as us, and eventually the large rocks that once stood a good distance away from us draw closer. The captain slows and stops the boat, anchoring us in what feels like a half-enclosed area given the way giant rocks jut up from the water. The captain points out the arch in the rocks to us, a famous Cabo landmark.
The area is beautiful, the sky bright blue, open, and wide above us with a sprinkling of clouds, and its mirror—the water—dark blue and vast. Stretching on as far as the eye can see. Out here, the heat and humidity still exist, but the breeze is nice and makes it feel cooler than it really is. I thought the blanket was a bit silly at first, but now I’m glad for it.
The captain leads us to the opposite side of the boat, where there’s a large square net. He throws a couple of pillows onto the net and gestures toward it. Miles, having brought the blankets over, sets them on the net, climbing onto it first so he can help me on.
His hands are warm around mine, squeezing and holding me steady as I step onto the rope bed. When I wobble, he releases my hand to whip an arm around my waist. It’s probably unnecessary, clutching me against him the way he is, but I let him hold me as I lower myself onto the net. He does the same, sitting behind me, a leg on either side of my body. His chest against my back, I lean into him.
The sun has just started to set, orange painting the clouds. This is what should be called golden hour, when the sky is half-gold from the setting sun. It burns brighter as it dips lower, gold turning to a deep orange, pink highlights streaking the clouds, blending with the oranges and yellows. In no time at all, the sky is awash with the most brilliant shades of every color. They saturate the sky, reflecting in the water so the ocean no longer looks blue, but orange and purple.
Out here on the water, it feels like we’re in the middle of a painting. I’m not merely observing a sunset; I’m in the thick of it. I half expect to look down and see my skin turn the same color as the sky. The warmth the sun provided disappears with its descent, so I arrange the blanket over my shoulders, cocooning myself. Miles wraps his blanket around him from behind, and with his arms around me, I find I’m actually quite comfortable.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice in my ear.
“Yeah, why?” I twist a bit to look in his eyes.
“Just making sure the motion of the boat is triggering anything for you. I should have told you to bring some anti-nausea meds, I’m sorry.”
“I always have some in my purse, but I’m okay, thank you for asking.” I tip my head up to press a kiss to his chin.
“I like this,” he says.
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I meant holding you. I like holding you.”
He squeezes me, and I acknowledge him with a sound of contentment.
“I’m so glad we reconnected,” he says.
“I am too,” I say. My heart beats just a little faster.
“Are you? You weren’t thrilled about my presence here a few days ago,” he teases.
“Can’t really blame me for that.”
“No, it was well deserved.”
The nervous flutters are back in my stomach because I feel like I know where he’s leading this conversation and I don’t feel ready for it.
“I, um, I don’t really want to go another eleven years without seeing you again,” he says. “In fact, I don’t really want to go another day without seeing you. And you’re leaving tomorrow.”
I’m glad to be facing away from him, because I worry what he would read on my face right now. I wait, sensing he has more to say, but I nod in acknowledgment of his words.
“And, um—god, this is…I’m so nervous.” He leans his forehead against my shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Abby. You bring so much light and joy into my life and I want you to be mine again. I want to be yours. I want to date you. When you leave tomorrow, I want to know that you’re going to text me before your plane takes off and call me when it lands. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to be your boyfriend, Abby.”
The skin on my chest feels too thin to hold my hammering, racing heart.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” he says.
I take in his words. On one hand, they’re a relief. He does want me, and he’s being as open and vulnerable as he was yesterday about his injury, about his dad. There’s comfort in this—in knowing he’s capable of that kind of openness.
And on the other hand, his words paralyze me. They make it harder for me to stand firm on what I want. It would be soeasy to just say yes, to give him whathewants, and to slide into discomfort because there’s something comfortable about being uncomfortable for other people.
