Page 97 of No Place Like You

When I wakethe next morning, Dexter’s gone. The side of the bed where he fell asleep is empty. And for a second, I think this is it. What we had last night, it was the best way we could’ve said goodbye to each other. And maybe that’s for the best. We had one last night together. One last amazing, life-altering night that’ll forever be engraved in me. And I should thank him. For taking me as I am instead of expecting more. But my heart feels too heavy for anything other than a kind of grief that can only come from an incomplete goodbye.

A draft blows the sheer curtains into the room where the sliding door to the balcony was left open, and when I look outside through the glass, I see Dexter. His bare back is facing me, and he’s sitting in one of the lounge chairs, looking out into the expansive view that includes the hotel grounds and the beach.

I rise from my spot in the bed, draping the sheet over my naked body, and step onto the carpeted floor. When I reach the glass door, sliding itopen a little wider for me to walk through, I see Dexter shift his head to the side where I catch a glimpse of his handsome profile.

I saunter around him, meeting him at his front, and run my fingers through his hair. “Good morning,” I croak through my morning voice.

“Good morning.” He runs his hand along my covered hip and tugs at the loose sheet. I fall into his lap, my legs straddling his thighs, and the sheets drop. “I like waking up with you.”

I nod, pressing my naked chest to his bare one. “It is kind of nice, isn’t it?”

He nuzzles his face into my neck, and I love how he feels strong and soft at the same time with his arms wrapped around me. We don’t say anything for a few moments, letting the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and the gulls squawking take up space while we enjoy the last hours of our day together.

“When’s your flight?” I ask, speaking softly into his hair.

“Three.”

“We don’t have much time.”

He shakes his head. “No, we don’t.”

Words stay held on our tongues, like we’re unsure of what to say next or what should be said. His fingers trail up and down my spine in slow, languorous strokes, and I continue raking my fingers through his hair. I hear people laugh and prattle on the ground floor, most likely early risers excited to get a head start on their vacation. More waves crashing, creating a steady rhythm that makes me relaxed and a little lazy. The cool breeze drifts around us, and we stay quiet and peaceful and completely serene.

Until Dexter finally speaks. “This feels like home.”

I smirk. “I think a lot of people would say that about a tropical island.”

I expect some retort from him, something along the lines of moving out here and living off coconuts and palm leaves, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes his head against my chin before pulling away.

“No,” he whispers, his eyes so serious it makes my heart flop. “I meant you. Us.”

My heart starts to race and I feel like it’s going to beat out of my chest, exposing how vulnerable and unguarded I am right now. And I don’t care. I don’t care that Dexter can see how much he means to me. Because I mean just as much to him. It just took a few leaps of faith to get us here.

“You feel like home.”

“Dexter.” My hands grip the side of his face and his slide up my body, tightening his arms around me. This is what love is. Completely unconditional, willing to do whatever, fight against any and all odds.

He grips my nape and forces me to look at him. “This is going to sound…irresponsible. And maybe I’m being a little selfish too…” He pauses, looking at me like his life depends on his next words. “I know we agreed we had last night. And it was wonderful, but…I want—it doesn’t have to end here,” he says through a hoarse voice. “We don’t have to end things because we’re going back to our separate lives.”

My eyes ping-pong between his, and they fill with so much. So many different thoughts and scenarios that make me want to agree with him. To free-fall. He’s asking for more. He’s telling me he wants more. To no longer make this temporary but indefinite.

“There’s no instruction manual. No how-to when it comes to long distance or whatever this would be between us, but we can figure it out together,” he continues.

“But how? I mean, you have your life back in New York. And with Janet?—”

“I know,” he interrupts, sounding so sure of himself. “And you have LA and this new job. But it’s okay. We’ll work through it, one day at a time. Please, just trust me.”

My entire body stills. A huge part of me wants to say yes. Because maybe wecanfigure it out. One day at a time. “Are you sure? I mean, really. You’re really sure you want to do this?”

He cups my cheek, brushing his thumb against my skin. “I don’t think I have a choice, Lucy,” he says, his voice cracking when he says my name. “I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if we don’t give it a shot.”

I look at him, searching for a whisper of doubt or fear, thinking there must be some considering how much of his heart he’s allowing to be vulnerable. But I don’t find any. “You’re serious about this.”

He nods. “I am.”

And I free-fall. “Okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah?”

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