Page 152 of Always Meant for You
“I don’t want to ruin your boots.”
She gazes at me, her eyes soft and shimmering. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”
I grab a blanket from behind the seat, shift her higher in my arms, and start down the path. The ground is uneven and thick with tall grass. I keep my steps sure, watching for roots and dips hidden in shadow. The sound of water finds us before the clearing does.
“Is that the creek?” she asks.
“It is.”
“Are we here to swim?”
“That’s up to you,” I say. “But first, there’s something else we need to do.”
“What are you up to, Callan Horner?”
I bite back a grin. “You’ll see.”
I take the last few steps, and the trees give way. Fireflies rise from the grass, golden pulses drifting through the air.
“We never got to dance under the lights, and I wanted to make a new memory in a field alive with your favorites. The fireflies.”
The tiny creatures rise from the grasses, blinking gold across the edge of the creek. They move in slow arcs, dipping and drifting through the dark.
“They migrated down toward the water,” I explain. “That’s where they mate.”
“You brought me to watch fireflies get it on?” she asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.
“I brought you here to dance under nature’s very own twinkling lights.” I lower her to her feet, drop the blanket, and guide her gently into my arms.
She takes it in. “It’s beautiful, Cal.”
“Yeah?”
She leans into me. “Yes.”
“Damn, I forgot the music. I was thinking I could turn on the radio in the truck,” I offer.
“No, we’ve got music. Listen.”
She lifts her chin, eyes half-closed, like she’s tuning in.
I press my hand to the small of her back, take her hand in mine, and draw her close. We sway.
“Do you hear that clicking?” she asks.
“I do.”
“It’s tree crickets, probably on the elm behind us. And the high, buzzy rhythm under it? That’s a katydid. First I’ve heard this year.”
We sway in the summer breeze, and I let her talk. She’s remembering her roots, and it’s feeding my soul.
“There’s a bullfrog near the bank, maybe two,” she continues. “We spent so much time at the quarry as kids. I almost forgot the creek was here. I always loved the sound.”
“Me too.”
She tilts her head toward the trees. “Hear that flutter? That quick, hollow rush?”
“Uh-huh.”
