She opens her eyes.
"Come fishing tomorrow," I say. "Not as a client. Just come."
She looks at me for a moment. The river is audible from here if you know how to listen, and I think she's starting to know how.
"Okay," she says again. Softer this time. Like the word means something different now than it did thirty seconds ago.
"Six in the morning," I say.
She tilts her face up. Almost smiling. "I’ll be there.”
I put my forehead down against hers. Her hands are still in my shirt and I cover them with mine and we stand there on that small balcony with the summer loud around us and I let myself feel the weight of this choice that I almost let the current take without ever reaching for it.
seven
Peyton
Igobacktothe river with him. This time, there’s no false pretense of being a client. Just him and me.
Does this count as a date?I’ll have to text my sister after.
We drive out in the early morning with the coffee in the console between us and Koda's head between the seats and the mountains going pink at the edges. He doesn't make it a conversation. Neither do I. The silence is easy in the way it got easy somewhere around day three, the way things get easy when you stop treating them like something to be managed.
We fish the private bend. I tie my own fly better than last week, but not good enough to be smug about it.
Silas watches without commenting on the improvement, which I have learned means more than commentary. I work the split current and get the angle right and the morning moves the way mornings move out here, unhurried and full.
Around noon we sit on the flat rock. He brought sandwiches like last time. I eat mine while looking at the river.
"I want to stay through the summer," I say.
He looks over, stopping mid-bite.
"I'll need to talk to my company about going remote. I can do most of my job from anywhere with decent wifi and the hotel has decent wifi." I stop. "I'm getting ahead of myself. Logistics. Can I just say I want to stay and work the logistics out separately?"
"Yes," he says.
"Okay."
I look over at him. He is eating his sandwich and looking at the river and he is the most contained person I have ever spent time with and I have never felt less like containing myself around anyone. That used to frighten me. Right now it just feels like information.
"I'm not scared anymore," I say, reaching out to put my hand on his. "I was scared the other morning. That's why I left. Not because it was a mistake." I hold his gaze. "I want you to know that."
He's quiet for a moment.
"I know," he says.
I believe him.
The afternoon gets warm and we move to the shade at the edge of the spruce. His jacket goes down on the flat rock and I help him spread it. We take our time. I am not naturally a slow person but I am learning that slow has a different quality of attention in it.
He takes my shirt off and runs his hands over me like he's doing something careful and deliberate, and I let him.
"Look at you," he says quietly.
I get his shirt off and put my hands on his chest, his shoulders, the warm solid weight of a man who has spent his whole life working outside. He is very large and very warm in the afternoon sun and I thaw sight of him makes heat flush through my body.
I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. He holds my face in both hands. Takes a moment to just look at me. Then he lays me back on his jacket and comes down over me and I think:yes. This. Exactly this.
