He smooths my hair back from my face, the wet strands matted and tangled, then brushes his thumb along my cheek, wiping away moisture that’s instantly replaced by more. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. The way he feels aboutme is written across his face, and I know the same longing is reflected in my eyes. His love for me is as tangible as this rain.
He licks the beads of water off my cheeks, my forehead, my jaw in little nips and pecks, like he’s going to catch every single drop. When he’s done, he dips his head and places a soft, tender kiss on my lips, achingly slow, so gentle I could cry. It’s an oath, a vow, like he’s kissing every broken piece of me back together—and it’s this one, out of all the rest, that pulverizes my heart.
A physical ache unfurls in my chest, blooming outward, spreading from my ribs to my lungs and up into my throat until tears sting at my eyes. This second chance feels like a miracle, too precious to be real and too fragile to last. I’m terrified of what comes next, afraid I’ll lose him all over again if he ever learns the truth. We’ve only just found our way back to each other, and already I’m bracing for the end.
I can barely meet his eyes as he rolls off me and rises to his feet, offering me his hand with a contented smile. The rain is sheeting down harder and heavier than before, a steady, relentless curtain of water obscuring the space between us. But as he navigates us back to the marina, a towel wrapped around my shoulders, I’m grateful for it.
It means he can’t see my tears.
18
Now
The morning afterThe Boat Ride That Changed Everything, I wake up to a long text from Ryder.
Good morning Scarlett,
I’ve been up half the night thinking about you…or about us, I guess. I can’t seem to settle my brain down, so I thought I’d write you an old-fashioned love letter, only this one will not be lost (I’ve got puns at 4 AM). Speaking of our movie, over the years I’ve found myself increasingly annoyed that Holden never sent Melody any letters. What was that about? For a simp, he sure didn’t try very hard. It pains me to say it, but maybe he deserved to end up alone—though if you ever tell anyone that, especially Jase, I’ll deny it.
I’ve been lying here wishing you were next to me, though I understand why you said goodnight lastnight. I’ve been trying to remind myself to take it slow, to let you process, not to smother you with my attention even though that’s all I feel like doing. In fact I had to talk myself out of being outside your door at 7 AM (or would you have liked that? Are you hungry for breakfast? Let me know).
Yesterday feels like a dream. It’s surreal, to finally have said the things I’ve wanted to say to you for ten years. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance. I know it’s cliché to say “a weight has been lifted,” but I don’t think I realized just how heavy this burden has been until now. I feel hopeful in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. I hope that doesn’t scare you.
I know last night was probably a lot for you. I don’t want to overwhelm you, or presume your feelings match my own. I meant what I said, that I’d like to get to know you again, at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. I have to warn you though, I’m already super into Scarlett 2.0, maybe even more than the OG version (apparently, I have a type). You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me, you always have been. You’re the one I’ve measured all others against. It’s been torture, knowing you were out there but out of my reach. I don’t know how I’ve lived without you for ten years when right now ten hours apart feels like too much. I hate how much time I’ve wasted, but maybe I needed it to grow up some, to be the bestversion of myself for you. I like to think I’m new and improved, or maybe just old and improved? I’m definitely hairier, as you pointed out. Hopefully old and hairy is just what you’ve been searching for. The total package.
I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights over the years. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep I’d pick a memory, like that boat ride through Cypress Gardens or one of our lazy Sundays at the beach, and travel back in time, remember what it felt like when we were happy, when everything felt simple. I used to wonder if you were in bed somewhere, thinking about me too. Now here I am lying awake again, but instead of reliving the past, I’m looking forward to the future. I never thought I’d get the chance to make new memories with you. I’m simultaneously excited and terrified because I don’t think you realize how much power you have over me. Please go easy on me.
I’m realizing pouring my heart out might be a lot for 7 AM, but now that I’ve opened the floodgates, I’m not sure I can stop. It actually feels good to talk to you this way, even if you’re not talking back. Somewhere for all my feelings to go after all this time. Probably should have tried this ten years ago instead of burying myself in the bottle. Hindsight.
I swear I’m not always this angsty. This entire week I’ve felt like I was crawling out of my skin, likeif I didn’t get to talk to you I was going to explode. When you opened the door that first night, I honestly thought I was going to pass out. My trainer makes me wear one of those stupid tracker watches, and it thought I was having a medical emergency. You triggered an “unusual cardiac event.” I hope you’re happy.
I guess I’ll end this here before I really do scare you off. Tonight’s our last event, the benefit concert. Can I take you? I’d love to show you my house after (and that isn’t meant to be a euphemism) (unless you want it to be).
Ryder
I laugh, swiping tears from my cheeks, and send Kendall a text:Can you talk? SOS
I only have to wait a minute before the phone rings in my hand. “What happened?”
“I have to tell him,” I say tearfully. “I have to tell him and I don’t know how and I’m afraid it’s going to ruin everything.”
There’s a short pause. “What the heck happened since yesterday morning?”
I fill her in while she listens quietly—about the plane, and dinner on his boat, his life in Seafolly, and when I get to the part about us kissing, she gasps. By the time I finish reading her his text-slash-love-letter, she’s openly sniffling.
“Tell me the truth—is this a terrible idea? Am I crazy to think we could make this work again?”
“No, you’re not crazy,” she says with a soggy laugh. “After aletter like that? Scarlett, the man is begging at your feet. Please put the poor guy out of his misery.”
I stare out the window at the restless sea, the current of unrest in my chest rising and falling with the tide. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want me to backslide.”
“Does this feel like backsliding to you? To me, it sounds like you’re finally moving forward.”
I’m quiet for a moment, taking that in.
“Look, you said it yourself—you’ve never really gotten over him. You’ve had this ‘what if’ in your head forten years, Scarlett. And clearly, he has too. There’s a reason neither of you have ended up with other people.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m rooting for you guys. I’m Team Ryde or Die.”
I close my eyes. “How do I tell him, Ken?” I whisper.
