Page 25 of Stony Point Summer
Yeah, right.
Like he’s about to let go of her now that he’s got her trapped. Instead he dips her so low that the back of her body skims the water. She jolts at the feel of it, which gets her hair to slip out of whatever was left of that loose twist. Long silky strands are now kissed by the water, making the ends of her brown hair dripping wet.
“If you’re going to be like this …”
Jason walks through the water as she complains. The water sloshes around his legs, wets the hem of his shorts. The tide is low, and he feels the ridged sandbar beneath his bare right foot.
Something else happens, too. Maris finally relaxes. She loosens in his hold, dangling her legs easily now. That rigid kicking has stopped.
“So,” he says, shifting her close, “if I’m going to be like this … What?”
“If you’re going to be like this, you … well, you can just stay away at Ted’s even longer.”
That’s what her words say.
But not her voice. Not her soft tone. Not her smile that slips into the words, too. Not her hands clasped behind his neck, where her fingers toy with his damp hair. And when he gives her one last dip so that she’s half wet by now—between the dipping and the struggling—she doesn’t kick. Doesn’t growl. She just watches him. Watches, and brushes drops of water from his unshaven jaw.
Oh, it’s a touch he misses.
At least he got a little back, tonight. On their second date.
Satisfied, he hoists Maris higher in his hold and walks out of the water—even though he doesn’t want to let her go. It’s like she belongs in his arms. When he stops on the sand, he turns so they face the water. The distant horizon is lavender now; the water grows as dark as the night’s early shadows. The waves lap, over and over, gentle splashes each one.
And all Jason wants to do is this—kiss her. Never before has he wanted to kiss someone as badly as he does right now. Maris is still in his arms. Her clothes are sea-spattered. Her arms are looped behind his neck. And her smile? It doesn’t fade, lighting up her face, her brown eyes.
He feels it, too, the way her fingers toy even more with his hair now. Easy. Softly. They pull through thick strands. He wants to do the same. Wants to move a wisp of her fallen hair behind her ear. Wants to brush drops of salt water from her face and kiss her beside the sea. Wants that faint moonlight to be shining on them, together.
He wants it so badly, to kiss her, to whisper to her—but knows he can’t.
Not yet. There’s no way he’s earned it.
Still, the feeling is so strong to lower his face to hers and kiss her that he has to physically pull back to stop himself.
Which he does, reluctantly.
Carefully, he sets Maris down so that she stands there on the soft dry sand beyond the damp driftline.
Right away, she brushes water drops off her legs, off her frayed denim shorts. “You just don’t listen to me,” she says with a small laugh. “My clothes are soaked!”
Jason sits down—right there. He brushes wet sand from his right foot first, then his prosthetic left foot before slipping on his boat shoes. Finally, in the dusky twilight he looks up at her standing there—beautiful as ever.
“But I didn’t get yourfeetwet,” he reminds her.
* * *
It was worth it. Every single minute of it, of being with Maris at Stony Point, on the beach.
When he’s back at Ted Sullivan’s cottage an hour later, that’s all Jason thinks. Thinks it as he greets Maddy at the door, and as he drops his keys on the kitchen counter. Thinks it as he takes off his prosthetic limb and sits on the edge of the bathtub. Methodically, he leans into the tub and cleans each nut and bolt and crevice and pin of his prosthesis. He’s beat now, too. It’s been a really long day—from his sunup breakfast with Elsa, to his jam-packed work schedule, to even a pet-store excursion with Maddy.
But the end of the day made the rest worth it.
Every damn minute he held Maris in his arms was too short, actually. He could’ve held her all night.
But those few minutes were the best he’s had. “In a long time,” he tells himself while soaping and wiping away traces of salt water and sand from his limb’s socket and pylon and ankle and foot, then patting the artificial leg dry with a soft towel.
Why was it worth it?
He sets the leg beside the tub to finish drying.
