I lean in for a bite.
Salty, sharp with lime, still a bit hot from the grill.
He watches me, waiting for a verdict, eyes softer than expected for someone who just kicked me under the table. He’s right, this is all that matters now.
“Not bad. I’ll choose dessert anyway.”
For once, nothing comes back my way. He looks at me and says, “I love you, Tom.”
I reach for his hand, tracing the faint blue veins beneath his skin with my thumb.
One look is all it takes for us to stop caring. Our fingers lace together.
“I love you too, Yosh. I love you so fucking much.”
Later that night, we head back to Palm Oasis.
I park in the garage, tell Jay I’m going to bed, and bribe Calvin’s dogs with a steak I ordered for takeaway.
Ten minutes later, I’m slipping out through the secret gate into Oscar’s garden, climbing straight into Yosh’s rental. He drives us to a hidden cove where we lay our towels out on the sand.
The second his lips find mine, the world fades. It’s just us and the desperate need to devour. Out there in the open, we make love underneath the swimming sea of stars. Slow and careful, tipping into not careful at all. We move with the waves, faster and more desperate with each thrust. Sand sticking. Skinny dipping.
We don’t stop until the dark vanishes and the sky turns everything cream and turquoise.
My hand stays tangled in his hair, his fingers tracing idle patterns across my chest. My shoulder makes the most comfortable pillow, he says.
We talk. About Amsterdam. About staying in Avalon. About Christmas at Heatherfell. About a future neither of us would have dared to imagine a month ago.
The sunrise is unreal. But it’s the way he looks at me that makes it the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.
Heatherfell
Chapter forty-one
Yosh
The doors hiss open, cold winter air hitting me right in the face.
Tom zig-zags through the crowd like it’s just another Thursday, while I fight against the crush of people and the noise coming in from every side. I push myself to keep up.
Voices, footsteps, rolling suitcases, they all crash together in my head.
I tug my coat tighter. It doesn't really do anything against the suffocating crowd or the freezing wind. Tom’s hand finds my back, guiding me through the mass of people. One look from those sapphire eyes and I know he’s got me. He gets it. Airports don’t mix well with my nervous system.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a lot of people.”
He gives me that little Tom McKenna smirk as he takes my luggage to free my hands.
“Welcome to Amsterdam, love.”
Outside, we look for a taxi. I breathe warmth into my palms while Tom talks with a driver.
It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak anything other than English, apart from the hint of Scots that slips through when he’s with Calvin. Now he’s rattling off Dutch, fluent and fast, but also like he's seconds away from starting a fight.
“This is different,” I say.
