I swallow hard. “Think we’ll catch them?”
He lowers his face, a breath away from mine, his palms cupping my jaw. “Yeah, I think we will.”
And then he kisses me, and any doubts I have left are lost in the rush of emotions.
This feels good.
This feels right.
This feels . . . like happy.
I may have even heard a bird sing.
Epilogue
Natalie
I close my eyes and listen to the rise and fall of the waves, the quiet roar of the ocean so much a part of me now that soon my breaths are matching the beat. In and out. In and out. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. My late summer soundtrack.
I may never be able to sleep again without that sound.
“How’s the inspiration break coming?”
The voice behind me brings a smile to my face. I open my eyes and roll over. It’s dark out, but the porch light from the beach house gives off just enough of a glow for me to see the outline of Monroe heading toward me in the sand in only a pair of board shorts.
“I wrote for a while then needed a break and started a letter to my mom instead.”
Monroe plops down next to me in the sand and leans over to kiss me. Comfortable. Familiar. Effortless. That’s how we are with each other these days. “Yeah? How’d that go?”
I prop up on my elbow. It’s still a little strange to be talking openly about my mom and her problems. Usually, I do my best to not let anyone know where I came from and all the problems in my family. But I’ve spent endless hours with Monroe. On the road. In our tent. And for the last few weeks, in his friend’s beach house. And everything has been talked about at some point. He’s amazingly easy to talk to. We even made a brief stop in Oklahoma for me to check in on my mom.
Monroe, of course, insisted on being introduced. I thought I’d die of embarrassment when he saw the beat-up trailer we called home and met my mom, who was clearly one too many pain pills past her limit for the day. But he’d been kind to her and hadn’t given any signs that he was disgusted by anything. Even when Mom pulled me aside and told me none-too-quietly, “What is wrong with you, Nattie? That’s the kind of boy who will use you up and leave you on your ass, little girl. Don’t you be stupid like me and fall for a pretty face. And you better be on the pill because I’m not raising some baby for you.”
I’d almost laughed at that. Like I’d ever let her near a kid. But when I had walked into the next room and realized Monroe had heard the whole exchange, I’d wanted to fall into a crack in the floor. He pretended like he hadn’t heard, but I knew he had.
So when we got back on the road after the three-day visit, I’d felt more than a little strung out and ashamed. But Monroe hadn’t let me get away with my moping. He’d driven us straight to a place that served the “Best Banana Splits in the South” (according to the sign) and fed me ice cream (that did turn out to be pretty damn good). And when we settled in later that night, he’d pulled me into his arms, kissed me, and told me, “You, Natalie Bourne, are an amazing girl. I’m sorry that your mom has too many of her own problems to see that, but know that I see it. And the rest of the world will see it. You are not that past.”
I’d cried. And he’d let me get all snotty all over his sleeve.
Then when I got control of myself, he’d added, “And we would so not let her raise our baby.”
That had made me laugh. And after that, I hadn’t felt any fear about telling Monroe anything at all.
I shift on my elbow, trying to sit up a little more, but the sand beneath the blanket is fighting me. “Still a work in progress. How’s your mission for the ultimate crab bisque?”
His expression sours. “I can’t get the texture right with this batch. It’s too thin. But I think I’ve nailed the seasonings down. I could go get you a bowl if you want to—”
“No.” I hold up my palm. “Seriously, I love you, but one more bowl and you’re going to cream of mushroom me like your mom did to you. I’ll never be able to eat crab again.”
I’m smiling, but I realize I’ve made some mistake when his playful expression goes slack and he just stares at me.
I quickly rewind what I said in my head, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Did I hurt his feelings about the soup? He can’t think that— Oh, shit. Now it hits me. I realize what I’ve let slip out. The L word.
That’s not at all what I meant to say. Even if it’s the truth.
“Nat . . .”
I put my hand to my mouth and sit up. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what? Didn’t mean it?”
“I didn’t—” I shake my head. I’m not going to lie. That’s not fair. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“But did you mean it?”
“Monroe—”
“Because I so fucking love you back,” he says, taking my hand.
Now it’s my turn to gawk like an idiot. “Wait, what? You do?”
I feel like I might throw up. In a good way.
He laughs, sounding more than a little relieved. “Of course I do. Can’t you tell? You think this is still one big, long hook-up?”
“I—I don’t know. I wasn’t sure—”
“Then be sure now, Nat,” he says, kissing my knuckles and meeting my eyes. “I’m completely stupid over you. Like, losing-my-mind into you.”
I can’t even speak.
“And now it looks like I’ve freaked you out.”
I stare at him a moment longer. Then I tackle him.
We crash into the sand, and I kiss him with everything I’ve got. I’m not even sure I’m landing my mouth in the right places. I’m murmuring I love you, love you, love you in between. Hands go everywhere and soon we’ve moved from yay-we-love-each-other making out to something more urgent.
His hand slips under the neck-tie of my bikini top, and the string slides free of the knot. My body goes hot and the waves seem to increase in volume. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Or maybe it’s blood rushing through my ears. His kisses trail down to my breasts, my nipples hardening in the night air and begging for his mouth. We’ve never done this, not on the beach.
But it’s a private beach for residents, and it’s late and dark. I haven’t seen anyone out here for at least two hours. And right now, I kind of don’t care if we’re seen. It’s too good to want to stop.
Monroe rolls me beneath him, putting me back on the blanket I’d been sitting on, and kisses down my body. We’re moving fast and frantic, but it feels so right. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, he runs his tongue along the outside of my bathing suit, the heat of his touch burning through the thin material like a firebrand. I make a desperate sound and angle my hips upward without conscious effort. His finger plays at the edge of my bikini bottoms and he looks up at me. “Trust me?”
I know if I say I’d rather move it inside, we will and he won’t mind. But I don’t want to. I want to be with him on this beach where we’ve spent so much time together. I want to taste the salt-laced air and hear the ocean as he moves inside me, as we make love. But then a practical thought gives me pause. “Condom?”
He smiles. “I have one in my pocket. Call me hopeful.”
Relief moves through me. “Then I don’t want to be anywhere but here.”
And that is as true a statement as I’ve ever made. Here . . . is perfect.