Page 112 of The Long Way Home
I nudge her knee with mine. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes stay on the fire, the flames reflected in them like she’s watching something burn itself down. The corner of her mouth pulls, uncertain. “I’m fine,” she says finally. “Just tired.”
“Come on, Sunny.” My voice drops. “It’s me you’re talking to.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, the fire crackling in the quiet. Then she says, almost offhand, “Do you ever think we’re gonna find that?”
“Find what?”
She nods toward the cabin, where laughter still drifts through the walls. “What they have. Margo and Josh.”
“Sure,” I say too fast, eyes fixed on the flames like they might give me cover.
She turns fully then, studying me. “That was a very non-answer.”
“I mean—” I shrug, forcing something that almost passes for a smile. “You’ll find it. I don’t doubt that.”
Her gaze sharpens, cuts right through me. “You keep sayingyou. Like it doesn’t apply to both of us.”
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “Because it’s easier.”
“Easier,” she echoes. “To believe in it for me but not for yourself?”
I don’t answer. I jab at the fire instead, sparks leaping up into the dark. The heat kisses my face, but it’s nothing compared towhat’s humming low and insistent in my chest from sitting this close to her.
She shifts beside me. The blanket slips from her lap, baring a stretch of skin that glows gold in the firelight. It pulls my eyes right to it.
“Rhett,” she says softly.
“Mmhmm.”
“Why do you call me Sunny?”
Her eyes are hazel and wild, sunlight caught in whiskey, and for one suspended second I lose myself in them.
My throat works. I open my mouth, then close it again. Finally, I say, “I’m not sure. Just… suits you.”
“Why don’t you have a nickname for Margo?” She tilts her head, letting her hair slip forward, catching the firelight.
“I don’t know, Rach,” I mutter, leaning forward on my elbows, anything to put space between us Anything to stop the way her eyes are reading my every thought.
She doesn’t let me retreat. Her hand brushes against mine. Such a simple contact, but it sends a jolt straight through me. I can feel the heat pooling in my chest, the slow, dangerous pull of wanting her.
She’s pushing tonight, and I’m fighting tooth and nail to resist giving in. Every instinct in me says to lean in, to close the space between us, to finally stop pretending I can walk away from this. But I wanted to talk to Josh first, wanted to make sure I wasn’t crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.
And yet… I’m not sure I have the strength to stop this.
“Am I special, Rhett?” she murmurs, teasing. But she’s daring me to say the thing I’ve been keeping quiet.
Her lips catch the glow from the fire, full and inviting, and a pulse of heat surges through me. I swallow hard, trying to will my hands and my words to behave, but all I can think is how easyit would be to lean in and maybe, just maybe, brush her lips with mine.
“Why are you asking a question you already know the answer to?” I whisper back to her.
Her lips part. I lean in. She leans in. Our noses brush. Her hair drifts across my face. The world shrinks to this inch between us.
But right as I am about to close the distance, chaos ensues. There is a tussle from the treeline and something is coming directly at us.
“Rhett!” Rachel screams, voice sharp with laughter and terror. “I told you the lake was haunted. It’s going to get us!”
