Page 52 of Fast Currents
“Care to join me for dinner?”
He switched off his headlamp, and I did the same, settling at his side. Clay extracted a handful of small containers, spreading out a feast of meat, cheese, and crackers, along with a bottle of wine.
“Small oversight. I forgot glasses,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But did you remember a corkscrew?”
“No need. It’s a twist-top.”
“Then we’re in business.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I wanted this to be a classy memory.”
“I’ll settle for just a happy memory with you.”
His eyes gleamed in rising moonlight. “Just wait. Patience, remember?”
Anticipation tickled at my nerve endings as we ate and talked. He shared a story about a retired couple who’d visited the park earlier that day, telling him all about their wedding on the bluff.
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
He stilled, gripping my hand tightly in his. “Luce, how many times do I have to ask before you believe me?”
“Yes, Robertson. You’re very funny. But I’m being serious. After Jen, do you see yourself doing it again?” I waved a hand at our surroundings. “Having a wedding?”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Jen always said I rushed headfirst into things. Glassblowing and proposing in thesame week? She’d have called it peak Clay. She was cautious. Steady. We were kids who grew up together. I didn’t know yet what I’d lose.”
His voice went quieter, almost reverent. “She was the first person I loved. But that chapter is closed. Loving her taught me how fragile life is. How fast it can change. And how important it is to grab on to joy when you find it.”
He looked up at me then, his brown eyes solemn in the moonlight. “So, yeah. I could see myself getting married again. If it’s right. If it’s real.”
He sighed, a big puff of air that sounded like it had been pulled from the depths of his soul. Loud, even against the wind rustling the grass. His dark eyes met mine, earnest and unflinching. His habitual half-smile vanished, leaving only sincerity.
I squirmed under the weight of his gaze. I’d wanted to tease him, but all pretense of joking had fled.
“Lucy Millen, you are quite possibly the love of my life. The only way I see myself getting married again is if you’re my wife.” He leaned in, lips brushing mine. “But, since you don’t seem to believe me, I’ll stop asking.” He kissed me again, slower this time. Like a vow. “For now. I can’t preach patience and not practice it.”
His words knocked the breath out of me. I’d been the one to ask the question, but I wasn’t prepared for the raw honesty of his answer. I’d expected teasing. Banter. A joke or dare. Not truth.
My fingers drifted to my lips. I could still feel him there.
ClayFuckingRobertson.
The man painted a picture of a future I yearned for with every breath. One I wanted, maybe more than I should.
The thought alone sent a shiver down my spine. My tongue tangled, wrapped in all the words I couldn’t say. Not yet.
Something flared out of the corner of my eye. I blinked. Clay’s broad smile took me by surprise.
“Lie back, Luce. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I snorted, adding a smile to soften the harsh sound. “I don’t think we can call it a surprise anymore. I’ve pretty much come to expect it when we’re alone together.”
“Notthat. C’mon.” He urged me back, tilting next to me until we were stretched out under the stars, my hand in his. “Look.”
He extended one finger. The sky shimmered again. Hues of green danced in the sky to the north, flickering and twinkling in a cascade of faint color.
I gasped. “Is that the northern lights?”
