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26
We don’t seethe field of butterflies. Instead, Renee decides to head back to the office.
“Work is love” she says.
I take the island circuit, a sandy path that follows the coastline, and head toward home.
It’s only about two miles from the nature preserve to my cottage and the walk has a beautiful view of the sea. Along the path a few small white butterflies flit along in pairs. Instead of making me glad like it usually does, it makes me feel alone.
The sun dips lower in the sky. In an hour, maybe less, it will start painting the sea in sunset colors.
Suddenly, I have the strongest wish that Declan were here. This would be the moment I told him about. When two people sit on the beach at sunset and brush hands and then…they know.
A few butterflies drift past me.
I close my eyes and make that wish.
When I open them again I look around the beach, somehow expecting that he’ll be here.
He’s not.
I turn my back on the water and walk up the hill to my cottage. The sunlight filters across the trees in a soft, fuzzy blue.
The sea grape and whistling pines along my road open up and I see the white paint of my little cottage and the turquoise trim of my porch.
And there, sitting on the steps of my porch, is Declan.
A happy, glowing warmth fills me. An answering smile grows on my face. He’s here. He came.
When Declan sees me he stands. He doesn’t smile.
In fact, he looks as cold and stand-offish as ever.
The golden glow of the setting sun shines off his black hair and paints him as stiff and unyielding as a statue.
If I’d seen him like this before, I would’ve thought that he didn’t care. Or that he was horrible or awful. Now…I run.
I run until I’m standing in front of him.
I want to throw my arms around him. I want to tell him all those things I didn’t know how to say before but now I do. But instead, I say, “You didn’t write me back.”
His mouth moves into an almost smile, and I see that his eyes are a happy, grassy green.
I cross my arms to keep from throwing them around him. “When someone emails you that they want you to come say goodbye, you should write them back.”
Then, my heart flips over, because he finally does smile. “I was in France. Admitting to Percy that I’d been wrong.”
“Oh,” I say. “Thank you.”
He gives a short nod.
I uncross my arms and take a step closer to him. “You still could’ve written though.”
He looks at my mouth, and I see in his gaze the same hunger that I’m feeling. My skin starts to itch, like a sunburn after a day on the beach, like the wool of a cozy, English sweater.
He shakes his head no.
“No?” I ask.
“No. I thought, if I had to say anything, I’d rather it be in person.”
“Ah.” I take another step toward him and his eyes warm even more.
“I also thought that I’d rather say hello than goodbye.”
Oh, I like that. I can’t help it, I give him a full-on grin.
His eyebrows rise and he gives me that supercilious look I’m so fond of.
“You’re smiling at me,” he says.
“I am.” I keep smiling.
“I read the article you sent.”
I take another step closer. Now we’re only a breath apart, standing at the foot of the steps to my little cottage.
“What did you think?”
The air is thick and heavy between us. If I stood on my tiptoes I could press my lips to his. I could give him a swift kiss, as soft as the wings of a butterfly.
“I thought it was interesting,” he says.
My heart gives a happy patter. “What did you like about it?” I whisper.
The article I wrote for him, listed all the reasons why Mariposa should be of interest to him. The sea, the turtles, the quaint cottages, the ordinary beauty of the island and most of all—
“I liked the bit where you said there’s a woman there…”
“Who’s waiting on a man,” I say.
“To come and help paint her cottage,” he says.
I reach up and cup my hand against his cheek and his eyes grow warmer. “Or take a walk on the beach.”
“And go kayaking.”
“Or watch a movie,” I say.
“And make dinner together.”
“All ordinary things,” I say.
“That are made extraordinary because of you.” He reaches up and rests his hand over mine. His touch travels through me, filling me with a fluttering of happiness.
“You recently said that nothing would induce you to like me—”
My chest tightens and I shake my head. “I’d take it back if I could. I’d take back so many things that I said.”
“No. You were right. I was arrogant, rude, proud. My proposal…” He cuts off and looks to the side with a frown. “I’d take that back if I could. I’m surprised you didn’t throw the teacake at me.”
I laugh. “You would’ve caught it.”
“What I was trying to say was that my heart was a better compass than all my logic and reason.”
The sky is now pink and orange and is reflecting the exact shade of my happiness.
“I was wondering if I might try again,” he says.
I give him a slow nod and try to contain the joy I’m feeling.
“Only if I’m allowed to try again too,” I say.
“Naturally.”
