Page 69 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
“Drink on the beach under the stars, Paris, and the ballroom dance.” My fingers curl around the page. Is that all that’s really left? I don’t want our time together to end. I suck my lower lip in and try to stay positive. “And saving a stray plant.”
Lanston sips his chai latte before looking at me with ideas springing to his mind, his smile as endearing as it always is.
“Let’s camp on the beach next. I know the perfect way to get back across the island too.” His smirk is loose and childish. It only takes a few moments for me to figure out what he’s alluding to.
“You’ve found a motorcycle haven’t you?”
30
Lanston
Ophelia’s thighsare clamped tightly around my hips and her arms are practically keeping air from entering my lungs. The smile on my face is painful at this point, but I can’t seem to let my lips fall.
After the first few hours, she loosens her vice grip on me and starts to relax more. Her head turns to look as we pass distant castles on the Irish countryside. We find a beach on the west coast as we’re traveling north from Galway: Keem Beach on Achill Island.
It’s empty by the time we pull up. On a cold, dreary day such as this, I’m unsurprised.
The stars are already peeking out from the fading sunset, and we only have our two bags, a blanket, and a wine bottle Ophelia snagged from the pub.
“This is the smallest beach I’ve ever seen,” she says with a laugh. Her black puffer jacket is zipped up to her chin—long purple waves of hair spill over her shoulders.
“Ireland is known for its cliffs, not its beaches.” I chuckle, looking up at the hills on each side of the coast. Sheep and rocks are our only neighbors, along with one lone, abandoned building at the top of the slope.
“Yeah, but still, are you sure this is your bucket list beach?”
I lift my shoulders and let them fall. “As long as I’m experiencing it with you, that’s all that really matters to me.” Her face lights up and her cheeks redden. Then a thought flickers across her gaze and she sullens. I raise a brow but don’t ask what’s the matter. A silence stretches between us before she bundles up the blanket in her arms.
“I’ll get the bed set up,” she says as cheerfully as she can and walks down the beach before I can respond. Is she upset with the location? Or maybe because our list is getting shorter… I want to add a thousand things to the bucket list, never wishing for our time together to end.
She pulls away emotionally when I try to let her know how I feel about her. Shit. Jericho makes it sound so easy.
Last night, he drunkenly told me that I need to take the leap like I did with Wynn and just tell her how I feel. But she’s so guarded. I don’t want to get hurt again, even if it’s my last chance at love.
A stream of light brightens across the sky and draws my attention. Ophelia makes a small gasping sound as she notices it too.
“A shooting star,” we say simultaneously.
The grin returns to my lips and Ophelia waves me over to the blanket frantically. “Hurry!” she shouts. I trot down the wet sand and lower to my knees beside her.
“Why the hurrying?” I ask with a smirk.
She gets close to me, tucking herself beneath my arm and staring up at the falling star. “I don’t want to miss this moment.It’s once in a lifetime.” Her heart is beating so fast I can feel it where my fingers trace her ribs.
“What will you wish for?” My voice is soft, and though I want to watch the falling star, I find her awe with it much more appealing.
Her eyes flash up to mine. We stay like this for a lovely moment, forgetting the stars and the wishes we’d only just been talking about.
She brushes her finger across my lower lip. “For another life, but this time, you’d be there.”
My smile grows. “Yeah? And what would we do in this new life?” She leans forward and rests her arms on her knees. Her head tilts to the side as she stares at me.
“We would laugh… as much as we do now. You’d bring me coffee and I’d sing and dance for you. You’re the artist, drawing and painting pictures of me and other somber things. You’d be popular but not famous. It was never what you wanted, you see.” Her words are soft-spoken and gentle—a compliment. The vision of the life she speaks out pieces together in my mind. A beautiful life. And quiet. The two of us would grow old, but our souls would remain the same.
“What of you in this life, my rose?” I ask, craving more of her imagination.
“I would dance in only the most renowned theaters amidst the wisest audience. Only for them and only for you.” Ophelia’s eyes glimmer with the light of the shooting star. “To violins and cellos of the most somber songs.”
Only for me.
