Iris squeezes my hand as the light in her eyes changes, those pupils darkening, blooming. “No,” she says, her voice lilting around a growing smile. “I don’t.”
Her eyes stay locked with mine, and for a moment, time stops. We stand on an open bridge in the middle of a swamp in the heart of a forest. And I know she’s telling the truth.
Iris trusts me to keep her safe.
It’s like someone’s handed me the sun to carry in my arms.
I don’t want to pull my gaze from hers. Instead, I want to pull her mouth to mine. The urge is maddening.
But we are touching, our bodies inches from each other. Almost as close as when we dance. It should be enough.
It’s not.
Counting the drive, I’ve been with her for almost three hours today, and that’s not enough either. I don’t want this day to end.
But she’s here to get away. To get into nature, and now I understand what it means. She can stop thinking, stop criticizing herself, stop worrying when she’s on the trail and in the woods. She’s present and peaceful.
Except for right now. And I’m the one who’s here to help her enjoy it. Safely. Not maul her like a feral pig.
“Look around,” I make myself say. “Take it in.”
She squeezes my hand and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. These are nerves, I know, but they wreck me again, and I allow myself the indulgence of squeezing back.
“Go on,” I whisper, nodding toward the expanse of wet wilderness just over her shoulder.
Iris smiles a nervous smile, and then, with the silly, ramped up expressiveness of a performer, she widens her eyes and slowly peeks behind her. Clutching my hand tight, she lets her shoulders and then her hips follow the movement until she’s facing the right side of the bridge.
This side is all swamp. It’s hard to see now, because the trees are leafed out in full and the moss is so thick, but about a quarter mile that way, land wraps around this inlet. In the opposite direction, past the cypress trees and their knees is Lake Chicot. This is easier to glimpse as water mirrors the sky and ripples move over the surface.
But I watch neither water nor woods. My eyes are on her. As we stand motionless, Iris visibly eases. Her shoulders drop, and her chest expands. Her eyes are still wide, but with a softer cast, taking in the green gloom of the swamp.
Her profile is a study in loveliness. The day’s humidity has speckled her delicate nose and upper lip with tiny droplets of sweat. Her ripe lips are softly parted in wonder. Here, under the patchwork of sunlight through the trees, I see just a dusting of light freckles on her cheekbone I’ve never noticed, not even up close to her in the dance studio. But they seem to reflect the gold in her eyes.
The line of her jaw and the shape of her chin are solid, not shrinking, giving her profile feminine, regal strength. She could play Cleopatra or Helen of Troy if she wanted. Audiences would bow in reverence.
If I snapped a picture of her right now and showed it to everyone I know, they’d agree with me. She’s the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.
But that picture wouldn’t show even half of what makes her beautiful. Not her humor. Or her innocence. Or her trusting heart.
It wouldn’t show the lost look in her eyes when she talks about her dad or the way her nostrils flare when she argues. It wouldn’t show—
Iris gasps. “Is that—” Her hand becomes a vice around mine. “Is that an alligator?”
I tear my gaze from her and look to where she’s pointing. At first glimpse, the shape looks like a submerged log, but that’s nature’s camouflage. No doubt, the two bumps breaking the water’s surface are the beast’s eyes. He’s a ways off, and though he’s no giant, he’s nearly full-grown. The barely visible ridges on his back show off his length, a good six or seven feet.
“Yep. Good eyes,” I say.
She gasps again. “Is he going to chase us?”
I’m not fast enough to swallow my laugh. “No. He’s probably not going to move at all. More than likely, he’s digesting his breakfast or waiting for lunch to swim by.”
I feel the shiver that moves through her. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “He doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
“What about Mica?” she asks, her voice high and anxious.
“Well, Mica’s not in the water, so we’re good.”
Iris snaps her wide eyes at me. “They eat dogs?”
