Page 75 of Second Tide's the Charm
adrian
I wake up with Hope in my arms, and I never want this moment to end. Without a moment to pinpoint the demise of our relationship, it wasn’t until almost a year after she left that I woke up, sweating and breathing hard from a nightmare, and realized I’d never hold her again. Never spend hours talking with her. Laughing and kissing and loving each other.
Something I once took for granted, now all the more precious. With dawn, last night’s conversation feels like fantasy, but the gold necklace resting against her heart lets me know it was real. We’re giving each other a second chance. I won’t have to hold myself back around her or try to dam my feelings.
But daybreak also brings more mundane realities—texts from Gabe, requests to collaborate, and unread emails in my university account. One-handed, I type out replies. Hope stirs and tips up her chin, catching my eye.
“Are you working right now?”
I lay the phone facedown. “Sorry—”
“Don’t be.” She lays her head against my chest again, burrowing in. “This is the life you’ve worked for. I’m still in awe of you.”
Her shoulders drop, and she shifts with sleepy warmth, sliding against me, and I tuck my arms around her. “I never thought we’d have moments like this again,” she says, so quietly I have to duck my head to catch her words. “The thing is, what I feel for you is not quantifiable, but the pull is so strong. Even when I thought I couldn’t stand you, I wound up here.”
“Did you really think you couldn’t stand me?”
She shakes her head, cheek gliding against my bare chest. “I couldn’t understand why I loved you so much. That’s why I didn’t trust it.”
“Do you have to? We can’t see currents, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”
“No, but their effects are measurable. We can collect data, run experiments.”
“I’m up for that.” I squeeze her hip. “What sort of experiments did you have in mind?”
She squirms, giggling. “I was being serious.”
“So am I. I never joke about science.”
Shoulders still shaking with quiet laugher, she relaxes against me. “I don’t need a test to know how I feel about you is real. But if I did, the last three years was it. The moment I saw you again I knew all my efforts to forget you were hopeless.”
I let out a groan, covering my forehead with my arm. “How long have you been holding out to use that one?”
She presses a kiss to my chest. “It’s true.”
I wrap my arms around her, molding our bodies close. “Thisis true.” I kiss her hairline, right above her temple. “I’ve wanted to be with you every moment since you left, and my only regret is waiting for you to fall back into my life instead of coming to Michigan to tell you how much you mean to me.”
“We’re not playing the what-if game, remember?” Her thumb rubs my knuckle, soft and comforting. “We’re together now, that’s what matters.”
Wind stirs the oak trees overhead outside my window, spreading dappled sunlight on the comforter, but we fall silent. Her breathing steadies and slows, and my eyes drift closed. Then my phone chimes twice in rapid succession. I hasten to silence it, but Hope’s blinking at me.
“Just notifications on my socials.”
She rakes her fingers backward through her tousled hair. “I know you say you’re not famous, though I’m sure your followers would disagree. But how does this go, dating someone with such a public job?” Her tone is light, but underneath I know she’s thinking about the lack of privacy in my online life. “Does this mean our life is going to become a reality show?”
I like how she said “our life.” “In terms of the channel, nothing needs to change.” When her brows shoot up, I hasten to add, “What the public sees, I mean. We don’t owe them the details of our private life. That’s not what my platform is about. I share my personal life to connect with people, but I don’t give anything close to everything.”
“You don’t plan to tell your fans you’re taken?” I can’t tell if she’s asking because she’s worried I will or hurt that I wouldn’t.
“It’s up to you if and when we share. But I don’t see any reason to do it right away.”
“Good point. I’m taking the most eligible shark scientist off the market,” she teases, though her body is tense. “I don’t want the internet to turn on you.”
“Internet users,” I say automatically.
“What?” Her eyes narrow at the non sequitur.
“The internet. It’s the vehicle by which information is shared and communicated, it’s incapable of conscious action. What you’re referring to are internet users—”
