Page 65 of Across Time

"But I remembered it later." He turns toward me with a small grin. We are far closer than two naked people should be when one of them is practically engaged to someone else. “And I remembered it often.”

I laugh, a hint of nerves underlying the sound.

His eyes search mine. “How are you?" he asks.

I swallow. The truth is that talking to him on the way in distracted me a little. I'm surprised by how okay this is, but my heart is still thudding in my chest.

"I'm…alright."

He begins to back away and my pulse quickens. "Can you stay?" I ask, the question whistling out on a single breath. "Right where you are?"

Instead, he moves closer and reaches out his hand. I grab it. "Do you want to go under?" he asks.

"God, no."

He smiles. "Just checking."

The two of us stay like that, standing feet apart, our hands clasped. The world is dreamy and quiet, as the sun begins to lower. A breeze, balmy and apple-scented, rustles the reeds that line the far shore.

I’m happy, I realize. I never thought I'd set foot in a lake again, but I'm actually happy right now. I’ve been happier over the past month than I’ve ever been in my life. And all the best moments happened with him.

Happened because of him.

When the breeze picks up and the sun begins to set, I climb from the lake, struggling to pull clothes on over my damp skin. Once I’m done, I turn around and he climbs out to do the same. The breeze now whips through the meadow so hard that the trees shake.

He lifts me onto Fleur, though I no longer need the help, his hands large and warm and gentle—and then he urges me along while he climbs on Napoleon.

“It’s going to storm,” he says. As soon as he speaks, I hear the low growl of distant thunder. “Head straight for the house. I’ll get the horses put away on my own.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re risking your life out in the storm?” I ask.

He grins. “Get dry and open a bottle of wine? That’s what I’d do anyway.”

* * *

I’ve changed clothes and am sitting on the stone porch with a lamp and an open bottle of wine when he gets to the house. He takes the chair across from mine, accepting the glass I’ve poured for him and breathing in deeply.

I’ve come to love the smell of wine as well. It’s no longer merely a drink—it’s an experience. The scent. That first burst of it against my tongue. I sigh happily.

“It’s perfect.”

He bites his lip. “You’ve come around then to wine, at last.”

“It’s one of those things you learn to love,” I explain. “I’m not even sure if it’s the taste I love or just the things it brings to mind.”

Lightning splashes across the sky, causing the lamplight to flicker over his face as he watches me. “So what does it bring to mind?”

I close my eyes and take another sip, letting the answer come to me as I relish it on my tongue. “Being here, with you. Reading. Playing chess. The smell of the rain.”

“You’ll replace all those memories when you go home,” he says quietly.

I shake my head, trying to picture the experiences that could attempt to replace these. My best memories, aside from my time here, are from the one full summer Mark and I spent together. It seemed like a miracle at the time, but now I wonder if it was just different, and anything different seemed good. I picture it all now: drinking with Mark’s family at the country club, receptions at art galleries, late nights out with his college buddies. That future I chose for myself—the one that seemed so ideal, so glamorous—suddenly seems loud, and empty, and sad. It could never replace these memories.

“I don’t think I will,” I reply. “Will you?”

“There will never be a time that I don’t step on this porch and think of you,” he says quietly.

My heart squeezes. It’s easy enough to say, but eventually there will be some other female here in my place, warmed by his presence—taking in his beautiful mouth and his bright eyes and the way he rests back in his chair—and she will be thinking of nothing more than when he will kiss her. I’m so jealous of her I feel dizzy.