I knew why we’d gone nervous.
We’d missed each other so fucking much, and here we were, living the life we’d clung to, all the while about to jeopardise it.
I had everything I could’ve dreamed of, and it made me hate myself because not once had I asked how she felt about quitting her writing course or if she missed any of her friends.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask either because I wouldn’t survive the answer if she admitted she wanted those things more than she wanted me.
“I’ll make the decision for you.” Grabbing the hem of her t-shirt, she ripped it over her head, dislodging her ponytail and its decoration of leaves.
My breath caught in a sharp cough as my eyes drank in her slim figure and black sports bra. The fullness of her chest was a perfect handful, the shadows of her belly enticing me to touch, trace, and torment.
Never taking her eyes off me, she kicked away her boots, unbuttoned her jeans, slid them down long legs, and pulled them off with her socks.
Standing in black bikini briefs, looking athletic and strong and so fucking gorgeous, I very nearly stumbled with desire for her.
The scraps of material were the only things keeping me from seeing her—all of her—and I both thanked them for their discretion and cursed them for their barrier.
“Your turn,” she whispered, swaying a little as her hands reached up and undid her ponytail, letting rivers of gold pour around her shoulders. The flash of blue ribbon beckoned me forward, and I stole it from her fingers, wrapping it around the back of her neck and pulling her toward me.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “I don’t know how I ignored that fact for so long.”
She gasped, surprised by my swift affection; a step behind my lust.
Before she could catch up, I broke the kiss and dangled the blue ribbon in her face. “This looks familiar.” I smirked. “Not a day went by that you didn’t wear this in some way.” My gaze drifted to her bare foot where the inked one with its cursive R still caused my heart to clench. “Didn’t you ever wonder why a piece of satin lasted eighteen long years?”
Her forehead furrowed. “Huh?”
“Think about it.” I stroked the blue, dragging it through my forefinger and thumb. “It lived in the elements, got wet, dirty, knotted, and crushed. Yet it never fell to pieces. Never tore when I tied it in your hair, never unravelled when you wound it around your wrist.”
Her head cocked. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I couldn’t exactly let your favourite thing fall apart now, could I?”
Confusion shadowed, then was chased away as comprehension lit up her face. “You replaced it?”
I chuckled. This was one secret I could share with her. Giving her back the ribbon she so desperately treasured—even now as an adult—I headed to my backpack that rested against a gnarly looking pine.
Throwing her another smirk, I reached into the side pocket sewn tight for protection of wallets or other important things and pulled out a circle of cardboard that had well and truly seen better days. The printed label and name of the colour had long since worn off, the edges frayed and torn, but there, in the centre of the wheel, was a depleted length of blue satin.
Her eyes widened like an owl’s as she dashed toward me—careful where to put her bare feet on the bracken-littered ground—and snatched it from my grip. “Where did you get this?”
Spinning it in her hands, she pulled out the pin holding the ribbon from unravelling and compared it to the one wrapped around her fingers. “Oh, my God. It’s the same. Mine is faded and marked, but it’s the same colour.”
I chuckled, loving her disbelief. “My longest secret. I’ve had that since I was fourteen. I’m guessing there’s only a few years left before it runs out.”
“What? How?”
“We were living at Polcart Farm, remember? I’m not sure you will, seeing as you were so young—”
“I remember,” she interrupted. “I remember Snowflake, our cow, and the TV channel with the puppets.”
I ignored the squeeze of my ribcage and sharp stab of my heart as I recalled Della bouncing in front of the TV with her chubby toddler legs growing each year to an adorable little girl chasing after Snowflake in the field.
A crest of simple affection and absolute unconditional love made me feel wretched and wicked all over again for thinking of her in the ways I did now.
Squeezing the back of my neck, the enjoyment of sharing my secret faded somewhat. “You were four. That ribbon of yours was falling apart. It tore in half one night when you were learning how to tie a bow around my arm. My ears are still ringing with how loudly you cried.”