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Now, well, I figured there’s no sense in stewing in my bedroom. I decide to grab the old camera that Anders gave me and go for a long walk down the road, hoping to hit up some of the really photogenic houses. There’s still film in the camera, and I have no idea how old it is, but I figure it’s worth a shot. At the very least, it gives me time to stew over what happened and over-analyze the shit out of it. You know, what I do best.
I walk down the lane, taking in a deep breath through my nose, smelling the fresh air. At the edge of the property, there’s a hint of the ocean, which is as calm as a lake. A few sheep walk along the water’s edge, nibbling at flowers. On the other side of me the mountains rise up and up, their peaks disappearing behind puffs of cloud. At first the mountains made me feel grounded, being so enclosed in this valley, but now I have a sense of vertigo, like if I look up too high the mountain will crush me.
But that’s just a metaphor, isn’t it?
Because I’m scared.
Scared that being with Anders, physically, intimately, will somehow undo all my resolve. He ruined me so badly that it took so much time and emotional energy to learn to be the person who would never make that mistake again. Yes, things with Danny went south, but I never felt like my heart, like the soul of me, was on the line.
Now, it feels like it is. It shouldn’t. But knowing that doesn’t make the feeling go away. If I give in to Anders, if we make things even more complicated than they already are, am I strong enough to walk away unscathed this time?
I keep walking and taking photos until I’ve run out of film. I don’t know how much time has passed, it’s hard when the sun stays up so late, but the birds are chirping and there’s a cool breeze in the air. Every corner is a new vista waiting to take your breath away.
Honestly, in another life, I could live here. To be surrounded by this beauty all the time, to slow down to a simple pace of life. It’s the kind of place that makes your heart dream.
I hear the motorbike from behind me, slowly growing louder, and my ribs suddenly feel too tight. In moments the sound engulfs me and Anders pulls up, looking too cool for school, a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Where are you going?” he asks me, as if I’m a stranger who needs a lift.
“Just going for a walk,” I tell him. I lift up the camera. “Taking pics.”
He manages a smile. “I’m glad you’re using it. Is there even film?”
I nod. “Used it all though.”
“Ah but that’s the kind of camera that always gives you one last shot.”
“One last shot?”
“It feels like it’s done, keeps winding. But if you press the shutter, you’ll get another pic out of it.” I lift it up, aiming it at his face. He shakes his head. “Don’t you dare waste it on me.”
I stare at him through the lens, enjoying making him uncomfortable for once. Then I lower it and give him a look like, now what? Are we going to talk about you kissing me? Or the fact that I kissed you back?
But I chicken out. “Where have you been all day?” I ask.
He nods at the mountains. “Exploring some trails. Getting dirty.”
I eye his clothes—dark jeans, a white Henley that showcases his rounded shoulders, his broad chest. Not a spec of dirt on the man. “You don’t look dirty to me.”
“Had a shower. Changed. Had to look nice for our date.”
I laugh. “Date? What are you talking about?”
He sticks a toothpick in his mouth and then jerks his chin over his shoulder. “Get on.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s happening.”
He grins at me, his eyes twinkling in a way that makes my heart skip several beats. “What happened to Miss Spontaneous, always up for an adventure?”
Gah. He’s got me there.
I flip my camera around the strap so it’s resting on my back and then I stride over to him, grabbing his shoulders as I pull myself on the motorbike. I wrap my arms around his chest, place my cheek on his shoulder blades, the backpack pressed up against me.
“You okay?” he asks, his accent sounding thicker, voice husky, and I’m getting inappropriate goosebumps.
I clear my throat. “I’m good. Let’s go.”
We move, much smoother than the other day, and after a while I lift up my head to take in the sights, the camera bouncing along my spine as we hit bumps. The ocean gleams on our right, a small fishing boat plying the waters, heading home. That is obviously just a villager catching what he can; I know we’re hours away from the actual open ocean where all the good fishing is (according to Anders, anyway).
