Page 53 of Another Story

With a shake of my head, I peer into her brown eyes.

“I’m thoroughly impressed.”

I swear I catch the beginnings of a smile, but she turns, her focus back on the task at hand before I can see it for myself.

I’m not deterred. I’ll get a smile out of her before she leaves me today.

Because her leaving is always inevitable.

I don’t have a moment to dwell on that because she stops short, and I place my hands on her shoulders to keep from toppling into her. Before I can ask what’s going on, she brushes her hair from her face and turns to face me, her arms outstretched.

I register the waterfall she’s just turned her back on for a moment before I’m assaulted by her smile. It’s open and breathtaking and full of pride.

“Welcome to my favorite place on earth.”

She turns her back to me again, and I move to stand beside her, catching sight of the bubbling water at the base of the waterfall and the greenery that provides the type of imagery that I didn’t know could exist in a place like this.

Cherry Cove is a beautiful place. But I never would’ve thought I’d find something so serene and almost ethereal here.

Then again, I never thought I’d find Eloise here, either.

“Why did you stay away for so long?” I ask, yearning to share a moment with her. To hold her, to press a kiss to her forehead.

“It was the last place I went with my father before he died.”

Her words are nearly swallowed by the rushing water, and before I can think, I reach for hand, brushing my fingers against her palm, seeing if she’ll open up to the idea of the kind of touching that doesn’t have a thing to do with lust.

She spreads her fingers, and I slide mine in the open spaces in between.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” I tell her, not wanting to ruin the moment but unable to keep my gratitude to myself.

Eloise doesn’t tell me much about her life. Little tidbits that I piece together to try to understand her.

I envy her fond memories, my own stilted relationship with my father making me wish that I knew him in a way that I would mourn his loss. But I don’t. And perhaps I mourn what wecould’ve been more than I’ll ever miss what we are when it’s his turn to go.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, still keeping my hand in hers.

I could lie, keep us on the level we’ve both grown accustomed to.

Or I could open myself up in turn and invite her in.

“I wish I could have what you had with your father,” I tell her, my voice thick with emotions that I try to swallow back.

She nods, and we stand there a moment, just basking in the natural beauty of our surroundings.

And when she speaks again, I turn my head to look at her, admiring the way the sun brings out the light toffee flecks in her eyes. A few times, I’d wondered if her eyes were pitch black, the way I was able to lose myself in them. But out in the open here, where I can drink her in freely without her looking away or hiding herself from me, Ireallysee her.

I see a version of herself she hasn’t allowed herself to be. A version that I could fall in love with. Sweet and soft with a hint of melancholy.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t already love the other side of her, with its sharp edges and quick wit.

Eloise is far from a simple small-town girl.

“I like you, too,” she says, blinking a few times. And before she can second-guess her confession, I use the hand I’m holding to pull her to me, pressing our joined hands into the small of her back. And with my free one, I lift her chin to look at me.

“I love that you made me earn it,” I whisper before pressing a small kiss to her lips. “It makes me feel worthy.”

I kiss her lips once more before letting her go. And once I do, she starts toeing off her shoes.

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