Page 98 of One Last Summer
Mack simply nodded, and then dove underwater, swimming the last few feet until he reached the raft. I peered over the edge of the platform and watched as he scrambled up onto the dock below me and then climbed the rungs of the diving platform ladder, two at a time. He said nothing when he got to the top; all he could do was press a hand to his hip as he caught his breath.
We stood there on the small slab of wood, no more than four feet wide, staring at each other.
Finally, he opened his mouth.
“Millen,” he said, “I thought I told you that I can’t let you jump off the high dive at night.”
I let out a huff. “That’s seriously what you—”
He pressed a finger to my lips and then dragged it down to my chin gently. His whole hand cupped my face, the caress of his fingers setting off fireworks along my jaw.
“Because it’s not safe. And the idea of anything happening to you, of you getting hurt or losing you, makes me sick to my stomach. I was getting ready to drive down to Boston tomorrow morning to talk to you, but clearly, in true Clara Millen form, you beat me to it.”
I laughed, a shallow gasp. It was the sound of pure, sweet relief. “I always beat you.”
“I know,” he said, nodding. “You do. Just like you beat me to saying ‘I love you’ first.”
His other hand found the curve of my lower back, pulling me a step closer to him. “And I do love you,” he said. “A scary amount.”
And then he kissed me.
Frantic, like it was the first time.
Tender, like we’d been doing this forever.
Shouts rose up from the shore, a chorus of cheers in the distance.
Our friends were still watching.
“Oh my god,” I said as I pressed one final peck to his lips.
“Everyone’s in a festive mood,” he explained, nuzzling against my neck.
“Because of Sam,” I said, assuming they’d dug up a bottle of champagne somewhere for a toast to Olive.
“Yes,” he said, and then he took a step back, his eyebrows furrowing into something serious. “But also because Marla and Steve stopped by this afternoon. Turns out the cash offer from our friend Brad the Glamper was dependent on a loan that fell through yesterday. The cash doesn’t exist.”
“The cash,” I repeated back, “doesn’t exist.”
“That’s right,” he said with a solemn nod. “That means no tennis courts or yoga studios.”
“But what else does it mean, Mack?” I said, not wanting to push him, despite everything I hoped he would say.
“It means I’m going to be spending all day tomorrow filling out a lot of paperwork and hoping that the bank approves my loan,” he said.
“Are you…”
He finished my question before I could get the words out.
“What, scared? Yeah, shitless,” he said with a shake of his head. “But also, I’m kinda not.”
“Yeah.” I nodded slowly, reaching down and snaking my fingers through his. “I think I know exactly how you feel.”
Our eyes locked on each other, and I knew I was grinning just as hard and foolishly as he was. He pulled me closer, bringing our hands to his chest, and the familiar comfort of his body settled everything inside of me.
“What do we do now?” I asked as I tucked myself against him, his arms protective and warm against my back. We were sixteen feet in the air, in the dark, in the middle of the lake, surrounded by the endless unknown.
“We jump off,” he said matter-of-factly. “And swim back to the shore.”
