I know the path. I come here when I need to clear my head, when I want to surround myself with the untouched parts of the island.
Tom’s right there when I glance over my shoulder. His curls, damp with sweat, have turned into loose waves and his shirt is clinging to his body. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t distracting.
If a cactus gets too close or the rocks feel sketchy, I reach back and offer him my hand. Not that he needs it, we both know it’s just an excuse to touch. And yes, we always end up holding hands a little longer than we need to. It all feeds the tension that’s been simmering between us for days now.
“Almost there,” I say, tightening my bun.
The view I wanted to show him opens up in front of us, the ocean fading from turquoise to deep blue beyond the double reef.
I sit down on an old wooden bench at the cliff’s edge,
Tom drops down beside me, breathing hard, but mister McKenna acts like he’s fine.
A bit of exercise like this won’t hurt him.
“Worth the climb?” I ask, brushing the back of my hand over my neck.
“Yeah. You weren’t joking.”
I dig into my backpack, pulling out a small container filled with guava slices. The lid pops off easily, and I hold it out.
“Sweet and juicy,” I grin, referring to the note he left with it.
“Thought you already ate it.”
“Saved it for you. Felt wrong not to share.”
Tom takes a slice. Sunlight hits his freckles, his hair lighting up in a hundred shades of copper and gold.
He’s like the sunset. My sun. And yes, maybe also my downfall.
I take a breath. “We need to talk.”
I’m nervous. He isn’t, which new. He’s been off ever since I picked him up from Calvin’s place this afternoon. Less Tasmanian devil, more… serious.
He reaches out, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and smiles, then leans back like nothing happened.
I catch myself staring, lost in the blue of his eyes, and I can’t tell what’s deeper: the ocean or him.
“Okay,” he says, gesturing with his hand. “Let’s talk.”
“Okay. Yes. Right.”
I fumble the folded piece of paper out of my pocket.
“Wait,” he grins. “Did you write a list of bullet points?”
The look on his face. Shit.
“I…no, I mean yes, but not like—” I let out a laugh that comes out a little unhinged.
“It’s not because I can’t remember. I can remember. I remember everything. That’s kind of the problem.”
The paper crumples between my fingers, dangerously close to tearing.
“It’s just…this matters. There’s an order. And I didn’t want to mess up the order, which—God, sorry—does that even make sense?”
He chuckles, wearing that easy smile that tells me he’s enjoying my implosion. My cheeks are burning, my dignity is in shreds.
