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I’m a shameless addict.
A convert to her love.
I’ll worship her for the rest of her life, if I can be a part of it.
And I know—I know what this means. This feeling, so vast and intense, tears me apart.
Her hands are in my hair. My hands are on her waist, her back.
Yeah, I’ll never recover from this.
I might spend the rest of my life craving her, and I don’t even care.
I’d keep kissing her until one of us passes out, too, if it isn’t for the interruption.
Radio static.
The Coast Guard.
Canadian Coast Guard.
I lunge for it. “This is Shepherd Foster, owner of this vessel. Can you see us on radar? What’s our location? Over.”
There’s a rustle, maybe the sound of surprise and the man speaks again, giving us the exact location. We’ve drifted so far we’re just off the coast of British Columbia, not in US waters anymore.
I take a second to look out the salt-splattered windows.
There’s nothing to see but water and a small fishing vessel to our right, just a dot on the horizon.
Destiny has her hand over her mouth, just as shocked as I am.
“We’re stranded. Our ship was damaged from the storm,” I say, keeping my eyes on her. I never want to stop looking at her now. “How soon can you assist? Over.”
“Affirmative,” a voice comes back. “Stay put and we’ll send someone out for you as soon as possible. Over.”
Help is on its way.
Fucking finally.
I hold out my hand to Destiny as she presses against me, her body so warm.
I rest my chin against her.
Molly, just as exhausted, snuggles against our legs.
Dess laughs, light and free as I kiss her head.
When Molly stands up and mushes her leathery nose against my cheek, I kiss her, too.
The relief is too real, humming in my veins like blood after a hard run.
We’re alive.
We’re together.
We have time.
Mostly, we have a chance to sort out what the hell we’re truly meant to be.
