Page 24 of When We Had Forever
“Jesus. You minx.” He sticks the key into the ignition. “You really are going to break my heart, aren’t you?”
I smile as he accelerates back onto the interstate. Without a doubt, this has been the strangest day of my life, but I find myself wanting more. I want to drink down each minute, throw myself headlong into living and see where it takes me.
The freedom of it intoxicates me.
“I guess we’ll see,” I say, “won’t we?”
BEFORE
I begin to suspect Michael’s intentions after we leave Seattle behind, then Bellingham, yet the exit numbers along the I-5 continue to tick upward.
I text my mother that I’m safe—I’ll give her details later, once I figure out what they are—then tuck my phone away and study the road ahead.
When a scant five miles of America remains, I fish my unused passport from my purse. My heart hammers so hard I’m surprised I can hear myself speak. “I’m guessing I’m going to need this?”
Michael’s grin flashes—mischief and charm rolled into one. “Yep. That, and a bathing suit. Do you have one packed?”
“Will a bikini work?”
“A bikini.” His husky voice edges toward hoarse. “Yep. That’ll do.”
Our gazes catch. I can almost see what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it, too, and it involves a whole lot of sweat and sliding, slippery skin. Hitched, breathless cries and slickened fingers.
Which means I’ve officially lost it. I’ve never been a one-night-stand kind of girl, and that won’t change now. Not even for this breathtaking creature who just came to my rescue and has apparently made it his mission to fulfill my most sacred, lifelong dream. Today.
I fan myself with the passport’s stiff blank pages. No choice now but to change the subject with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. “You know, when I told you I’d dreamed about leaving the country since I was a kid, I mean I’ve had actual dreams about it, night after night. The kind I’ve always hated waking up from. There’s always this fleeting moment where I actually believe I’ve gone trekking through a Brazilian jungle or joined a bagpipe band in Scotland. But then I realize none of it’s real, and it always breaks my heart.”
“Except itwillbe real.” Unguarded glee fills Michael’s eyes, edging out the stark desire of a few moments ago. “In about five minutes.”
“I can’t believe how excited you seem,” I say.
“I can’t believe I get to give you your first step outside the country.”
“I can’t believe youwant to. Why do you seem so giddy?”
“Because,” he says, “it means you’ll never forget me.”
“I don’t think I would have, anyway.”
“I hope not. But this way, I get to be sure.”
We don’t say much after that. I scan the oncoming road like a prisoner awaiting the guard’s approach on release day. I feel unbearably light inside, poised to fly. Finally, I spot a series of bright signs along the roadside, announcing the gates of a checkpoint—the entryway to another world.
Something touches my hand. When I look down, Michael’s long fingers weave through mine.
Fire floods my chest. I wonder if spontaneous combustion is an actual thing. I’m guessing yes.
We pull up to the border station. Michael hands over his license and my passport, and after a few cursory questions from the border agent, we accelerate into British Columbia.
Just like that, it’s done. I’m out. I’m free. I’m an international traveler, just like I’ve always wished.
My thoughts implode into a glittering cloud, and yet I don’t look out the window, even as downtown Vancouver streaks past. I fixate on Michael’s profile, tracing his pert nose and squared jaw. He’s just given me something no one else ever has, and I’m afraid to blink. Afraid this will prove to be just one more neon, electric dream.
After a minute, or an hour, he squeezes my hand. “You have the most incredible look on your face right now. What’re you thinking about?”
“Things I have no business thinking.” A thin laugh escapes me. “Things that make no sense.”
“No? Why not?”
