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“There was this one time that my dad convinced my mom to drive cross-country. He’d always wanted to see the country, but my mom worried about the Inn. He used every trick in the book to get my mom to agree. He recruited Darren and me to draw pictures—we’d leave maps for her with cool sights circled ... whatever he could think of.
“My mom finally agreed. We packed for days. The car was stuffed to within an inch of its weight limit. I mean, the back bumper skimmed the road. My dad couldn’t see a thing out the back window. When we drove up a hill, Darren and I would lean forward to take some pressure off the back.”
I laugh, able to visualize a young Will and Darren leaning forward, believing they’re helping. As he talks, I graze his fingers with mine.
“About a day into the drive,” he continues, “the car breaks down.”
“Oh no,” I say.
“Oh yes. By this point, we’re in the middle of nowheresville, there’s not a car in sight, Darren’s feeling carsick, my mom is terrified, my dad is angry—we’re all arguing. Full dysfunctional family meltdown. Then my dad just stops and points to the sky, to the clouds that look like blankets of fire across the horizon and the deep blue leaching into the bright orange. He said, ‘Even if this is as far as we get, this is all I need to see with you.’”
Warmth filters through my chest, trickles down to my toes. “He was a great guy.”
“He was.” Will’s mouth splits into a mischievous grin. “Although he did ruin the moment about thirty seconds after that when he ran away screaming because a spider had crawled up his arm.”
Even as I laugh, my heart breaks for all Will has lost, how much death has taken from him. From me. Would Will have felt compelled to run away if his father hadn’t died? Would he feel responsible for his family’s breakdown?
Would I be living a life so small I’ve left myself no room to breathe?
I don’t realize that he’s gone silent until the silence is filled with the sound of crickets.
“You’re shivering,” he says, pulling me from my reverie. “We can go inside if you’re cold. I doubt hypothermia was in your plan.”
“No, I’m okay.” Inside is the last place I want to be. Inside I can’t see the stars and sky and be reminded that there’s so much world outside this moment. When Brandon first died, looking up at the sky made me feel insignificant, made me feel as if I was too small to take on the world by myself. But right now, the vastness of the sky feels like potential. And hope. And all the things that it felt like before Brandon died. It feels like if I go inside, I’ll lose that again.
I turn to find his warm brown eyes fixed on me in a way that makes every nerve ending down my spine spark to attention. The moonlight accentuates the perfect angles of his face. My hand trembles slightly as I brush a lock of hair off his forehead.
He leans into my touch, and my breath catches. My body is humming as this man who runs, but has only ever run toward me, catches my hand. Logan’s warning flickers in the back of my mind and then vanishes. I know Will. I know where his heart is going, and I’m okay with it.
“Hope, if we’re being honest with each other tonight, I have one more confession.”
I can’t bring myself to blink, to do anything that might stop the flow of energy vibrating between us. Long moments pass. Maybe more than moments. My heart races so fast, it feels like it’s made up of a thousand butterfly wings.
“Yes,” I say, and oh God, my voice is huskier than it should be.
His focus dips to my mouth. Heat pools in my core, and it’s not the cold making me shiver.
“I lied to you.” His voice drops an octave, and all that heat rushes right back. If I tried to stand right now, I don’t think I could. “When I called that kiss a mistake.”
“Lied again? This is becoming a terrible pattern, I think.” As I speak, I’m drawn closer, as if we’re two stars who’ve finally come into each other’s orbit.
“Terribleis a harsh word,” he says. His breath skitters along my skin.
“You’re the writer. What word would you suggest?” I breathe, and his answering breath mingles with mine.
“It depends on what you want.Predictable, as in ‘predictable pattern,’ if you’re looking for alliteration.Vicious, if you’re looking for exaggeration.” His finger wraps around a lock of my hair. “What do you want, Hope?”
The question again.
I still don’t know, but the answer feels closer. Like it’s on the tip of my tongue.
I lean forward, and my lips brush his. He hesitates for only a fraction of a second before he kisses me back. Light, at first, and then deeper. I taste the wine on his lips, smell the night breeze on his skin.
Something that was building inside me erupts, pushing away everything except Will and his lips against mine. And then ... the feel of his tongue as my mouth opens for him.
He pulls me closer, his fingers spreading along my lower back. I melt into his touch. We’re a perfect tangle of lips and tongues and teeth. It’s exhilarating and new and every sensation in between.
A sound escapes from the back of my throat, and his mouth presses harder against mine. His energy takes on an urgency that mirrors a growing flame in my chest.
