The heel of my sandal scoops up more sand than I expected.I hardly stumble, but Ren grabs me, tugging me to him with an arm around my waist.
“I’d feel a lot better if we could both face forward while we’re walking on the beach in the pitch dark, Joni,” he says into my shoulder. “This flashlight’s not that strong.”
“Okay, Webster, I’ll face forward. Just for you.” His arm slowly slides from my waist as I spin around, and we continue on in silence.
When we reach a salt-beaten log, we finally stop and sit in the sand, our backs against it.
“Look,” I say, pointing up at the sky above us. “The Summer Triangle.”
Ren follows my finger to the trio of stars. I’ve searched for them every summer since he first showed them to me. Living in New York these past years, where you can’t see the stars, it often felt like a reminder of what we’d lost, like Ren and I were no longer under the same sky.
“Joni,” Ren says.
I look over at him, watch the way his throat bobs, his face only inches from mine. “Last night—” he says, but I don’t want to talk, not about last night or this morning or what happened or anything that exists outside of right now.
I shake my head, and he quiets as I reach up to trace the curve of his jaw, down into the hollow beneath, unable to stop myself from touching him any longer. He closes his eyes for what might only be a second, but I feel it like time has stopped and handed me this precious moment.
I let my fingertips come to rest on his neck until he opens his eyes again.
“I missed you too,” I say, because I worry that we moved on too quickly earlier and it didn’t land, and I need it to have landed. “Of course I did.”
He takes my cheek in his palm, then leans forward and kisses my forehead, leaving his lips there for a minute before pulling back.He examines his hand, a confused smile flitting across his face, and looks up at me.
“What?” I ask, my heart picking up.
“I think I messed up your glitter, Joni,” he whispers.
I smile, and so does he.
Something silent passes between us then,are you suresandyesandit’s usandit’s this, and I know that I’m not making it up this time. When he finally kisses me, it’s steady, certain.
It’s supposed to be impossible, being with Ren like this. We are just friends again, and I should be afraid of what this will do, should consider the fact that this is the time of night when bad decisions are made. But none of that strikes me as very important when I twist my body toward his and his hand falls to my hip, hoisting me up and onto his lap.
I melt into him, my hand sliding up his chest, then pausing at all the important spots: over his heart, the pulse point in his neck, the back of his hair. My knees rest on either side of him, and I press down slightly, eliciting a quiet groan from him that sends a line sinking through me, tying my center to his lips, his tongue, to the hands that skim the outsides of my thighs, the fingers just reaching under the hem of my dress.
Suddenly, he pulls away again.
“What?” I ask, frozen, worried that he’s changed his mind.
His grip tightens on my hips, keeping me in place. “I promise this isn’t what I meant bywalk,” he says.
I kiss him again, smile against his lips. “Well, for future reference, this might be the best walk I’ve ever been on.”
three years ago
Willow and Martin
Boston, Massachusetts
chapter twenty
I spot Ren before he spots me. He’s leaning against a wall near the departure board, arms folded across his chest as he scans the crowds, and I swear I can already smell his faded, sage green T-shirt. When I’m halfway to him, his eyes find me, brightening, his tall figure stepping easily around a family, each of their five kids on one of those ridable suitcases, all of them coordinated in neon shirts, The Baileys Take Bahston! emblazoned across the backs.
When we reach each other, he hugs me to him. “There you are,” he says softly.
Ren was on a work trip during the week at the beach house this year, and even that extra month made our time apart feel longer. So much of our friendship has been defined by these types of moments the last few years: transitional spaces filled with hustle and bustle, the hopeful, excited hello when our time together stretches ahead of us and the comedown on the goodbye.
I squint at the scruff on his cheeks. “Are you growing a beard?” I ask.
