Page 159 of These Summer Storms

Alice wasn’t paying attention. She was too focused on him when he asked, “Do you want it, too?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” she said. “He wanted us to want it.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Alice, but he’s dead, so who the fuck cares?”

“Yes!” Claudia couldn’t control her little outburst, and Emily shushed her.

“I want it, though,” she said. “I want you. I want this. I want us.” It was a wild thing to think, that word that felt weighted and important and terrifying because Alice hadn’t ever really thought of herself as part of anus.

He reached for her. “I want us, too.”

“Not because it’s your job?” The question came out small and anxious, and she hated the way it exposed her.

Jack hated it for a different reason. He exhaled his disapproval. “No. Not because it’s my job. Because you’re going to be my life.”

“Whoa,” Claudia said.

“Oh, that’sgame,” Emily added.

“It’s not that impressive,” Sam grumbled.

“It’s impressive,” Greta reported.

“Everyone?” Alice said, not looking away from Jack. “Please go away.”

She didn’t have to say anything more; the quartet left, taking their lanterns and candles with them, Emily stage-whispering and Claudia making supportive noises of agreement, and Sam grumbling, and Greta making the kind of noises older sisters made when they were trying to help out.

They weren’t even gone when he reached for her, one hand curving around the back of her neck, pulling her close for the kiss she was aching for.

He kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered—in the room, on the island, in the world. And in that moment, in his arms, she believed it.

They didn’t talk as he collected her painting and they left the room, dark and full of Franklin’s tree and the island’s rain, and climbed the stairs, up, up to the tower, where he pulled back the blankets and tucked her into bed with long kisses and no words.

She watched him as he crossed to the hearth, crouching to check the flue before he slowly and methodically built a fire there, coaxing it into flame before he returned to the bed, climbing in behind her, to run his hands over her body and whisper all the things he wanted to do to her, until she begged him to stop talking.

And then he used his mouth for other things.

Afterward, they lay there for a long time, staring at the dancing orange flames, listening to the storm outside, the thunder and lightning past, like the storm downstairs, leaving nothing but quiet rain, tappingagainst the glass, a lingering reminder of what had been. Everything would be chaos again in the morning—secrets didn’t go back to being secrets by the light of day, but in that moment, he was there, like he promised.

After a long time, she said, “You built me a fire.”

His grip on her tightened, pulling her close, as though if he held her tight enough, he could keep the storm at bay. The Storms at bay.

They lay like that for minutes, hours…until she lost track. Until she began to think it was true, that he might be able to do just that. And as she fell asleep in his arms, he whispered, “Alice, someday you’re going to realize that unlike everyone else in your life, I keep my promises.”

Chapter

22

Alice woke to brightmorning sun.

Reaching for Jack on the other side of the bed, she wondered how long they could hide inside the tower before they had to face the wreckage (literal and figurative) of the night before. It was a tempting idea, taken off the table immediately when she discovered the crisp sheets empty and cool to the touch.

He’d left before she woke, no doubt at the crack of dawn, sneaking out of the house before anyone could discover them. He remained a decent guy—even in the wake of the revelations in Franklin’s office, when he’d confessed to being a little bit of a scoundrel.

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