Page 57 of Past Tents

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

ALLY

By the time the kids were all in their tents on that second night, I fully understood the beauty of sleeping outside. I was so exhausted that I’d have happily slept on a pile of rocks.

“It’s only nine,” I told Clay when I backed into our tent so my feet stayed outside while I unlaced my hiking boots and took them off. “Nine, and I’m ready for bed. I feel like it’s one in the morning.”

Lying on top of his blue sleeping bag with his ankles crossed, he chuckled. “Hiking wear you out?”

“No, the kids, the hiking, the constant fear of bugs and wilderness...that’s what wore me out. But I’m excited that I can go to sleep at nine.”

“I’m excited for you. How’s Jayne doing?” Tonight, I spent some one-on-one time with her while Clay entertained the kids by the campfire. She’d brought a small drumming pad and drumsticks in her pack, and she demonstrated how she practices at home without making much noise.

“Feeling much better. I think she’ll be back to her old self just in time for pickup tomorrow.” I stuck my feet into my sleeping bag and wiggled my toes in my socks. “I guess this is the point of camping—to get so worn out that sleeping on the ground feels amazing.”

Our head-to-feet arrangement didn’t feel nearly so awkward tonight, and as we both hunkered deep into our respective sleeping bags, there was enough moonlight for us to see each other in a silvery glow. “I wish you could see how beautiful you look,” Clay said, raising himself onto his elbows to look more squarely at me, and making my view of him that much better.

“Something pretty about moonlight. It’s working for you too, greyhound,” I admitted.

Lying back down, he reached for my hand, which I had draped outside my sleeping bag. Intertwining our fingers felt like a victory. Somehow so much more intimate in the quiet of the tent, now that we were alone. My skin buzzed at all the places his fingers touched mine, as his thumb softly rubbed circles over the back of my hand.

Lying here with him, I felt a sense of calm contentment that I’d never experienced before with a man. I didn’t hear my usual warning voices telling me that guys like Clay were only bound to break my heart. This man—the Clay I’d gotten to know over the past couple of weeks—seemed like the kind who had my back. That’s what he’d been telling me, and I was starting to believe it. “This is nice.” My voice sounded as sleepy and contented as I felt.

Clay sat all the way up and brought my hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. The feel of his breath over my skin sent a ripple of warmth through me and I sighed quietly.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling me up to sitting. “One kiss. Just to tide me over, yeah?”

I nodded, my movements slowed by the desire to stretch this moment to infinity. Clay slowly pulled me closer until our clasped hands were sandwiched between us. When his lips swept across mine, I breathed him in and my eyes drifted shut.

His mouth covered mine more fully and our lips melded. Discovering, tasting, hinting at more. Then Clay pulled away and brushed his nose against mine before leaning back to look at me. I drank in the strong line of his jaw, the warmth in his hazel eyes, the stubble on his face that I ached to have in my hands.

Hands still joined, we each lay back down on our sleeping bags and I heard a deep sigh rumble from Clay’s chest. It mirrored how I felt. And how I felt surprised me.

In all the years I’d observed Clay from afar, I’d done so with the idea of him being off-limits. My brother’s best friend. A guy who couldn’t commit. The very sort who my mother warned me against. And yet, this wasn’t the Clay I’d gotten to know.

Maybe I didn’t need the fantasy I’d always imagined. Maybe I could allow myself to enjoy something—even just a kiss—without worrying about commitment or labels or the fact that Clay didn’t do relationships. And about that...

“Clay, I just need to ask...what’s your deal? Why do you not do relationships? Is it just that it’s annoying to be fixed up all the time? Or do you like to keep your options open? Or are you a loner or a commitment-phobe or a?—”

“No. It’s none of those things,” he interrupted, squeezing my hand.

“Then what?”

“Alexandra, it’s pretty simple. The only woman I’ve wanted is you.”

Maybe in my wildest romantic fantasy sequences, someone like Clay would say something like that to me. But not in real life. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me.”

And I had no idea what to do with that information. “Since when? Since our camping trip in your yard?”

“Since forever.”

I raised my head to get a better view of Clay and found him staring up at the tent. The moonlight cast shadows on his face, but I could still see the furrow in his brow. “Clay...what?”

“It’s been years, Ally. I wanted to stop thinking about you. I tried to stop. But I...can’t.” His voice cracked on the last word, and I heard it strain. It sounded feral, a tight guitar string on the verge of snapping. “And I don’t want to try anymore.”

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