I roll my eyes. “Not even close.”
“Worth a shot.”
The next pause is easy. We just sit, Jordan warm beside me, the creek’s rhythm soothing as a lullaby. For once, I don’t need to fill the silence.
Sun climbs higher. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s restless energy, but suddenly Jordan stands, peels off their boots, rolls up their jeans. Without preamble, they step into the creek.
The sound that rips out of them is ridiculous—a genuine, undignified yelp that startles a bird from the brush. Jordanstands mid-stream, bracing against the current, shivering from head to toe.
“Holy shit,” they gasp, “that’s so much colder than I remember.”
I stay on my solid stone, eyeing the water. This is the moment where a reasonable person says “no thanks.” Instead, I’m already on my feet, peeling off my shoes.
“What are you doing?” Jordan calls over the rush.
“Making a terrible decision,” I shoot back, and plunge in.
The cold is a physical shock. I make a wild, high-pitched noise that can’t possibly be mine, and Jordan doubles over, laughing so hard the bridge itself seems to echo.
I splash Jordan, hard, water arcing between us. They retaliate, and suddenly we’re both soaked, laughing, stumbling. I lose my balance twice—the first time, Jordan catches me by the elbow, steady, confident. The second, I go down, knee smacking a rock, but I’m already numb and don’t even care.
My cotton dress is a disaster, plastered to my body, leaving little to the imagination. Jordan, who normally meets my gaze, is now studying everything else: distant bank, the bridge, the sky, anywhere but at the wet, clingy fabric outlining every curve I own.
Their hair is coming loose, damp strands stuck to their skin, a drop trembling at the tip of their nose. They look carefree, unguarded, and the sight makes my chest tighten.
Eventually, we surrender to the cold and drag ourselves out on the far bank, collapsing onto sun-warmed grass, side by side, catching our breath. The world narrows to the hush of creek and the thud of our hearts.
Jordan’s shirt is nearly see-through, molding to their chest and arms. I wring out my dress, water beading onto the grass, and the absurdity of the moment almost makes me laugh again. But what settles instead is quieter, heavier, charged.
I turn to face Jordan; they’re already watching me, gaze open and vulnerable.
“Are you trying to make me fall in love with this town,” I ask, “or with you?”
The question hangs between us, heavier than anything I’ve said all day. I wait, certain my heart is visible through the wet cotton.
Jordan doesn’t look away. “Both,” they answer quietly. “If I’m lucky.”
Something inside me gives. I reach for them, palm flat to their chest, feeling the wild hammer of their heart. My fingers clutch at their shirt, and Jordan lets me pull them in, their mouth finding mine.
The kiss starts gentle—a question, not a claim. Then I answer, hand sliding up behind their ear, and the kiss deepens, wild and hungry, heat blooming everywhere we touch. Jordan’s hand finds the small of my back, thumb digging into the soaked fabric, and the heat of it draws a low, helpless sound from me—a sound that makes Jordan freeze, just for a beat.
They pull back, just enough to rest their forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“We can stop,” Jordan offers, voice rough. “Just say the word.”
I look at them, at the dark sweep of their eyes, the water trailing over their skin. My hand is still on their chest, feeling every frantic heartbeat.
“I don’t want to stop,” I say. “I want this. I want…” It’s awkward to say, but I make myself say it. “I want proof that my body still belongs to me.”
Their thumb strokes the small of my back, soothing and slow. “It does,” Jordan says. “It always has.”
We kiss again, slower, savoring it, Jordan cradling my head like I’m precious. And I’m not breakable, but right now I want to be held.
We stop before it goes too far. Stay tangled in the grass, breathless and grinning, both of us a mess. I’ve never been more content to be a mess in my life.
Eventually, I whisper, “People will talk. They’ll think I’m replacing him. Moving on too fast. Like I’m erasing him.”
Jordan’s fingers find mine, lacing tight.
