Page 185 of We Redeemed the Rain

“I plan to kiss you alotthis weekend, Bea Thompson.” He moved closer. His lips were so close they brushed mine as he spoke. “You better make peace with that right here and now.”

“Done. Peace made.”

I didn’t see his smile—I felt it. His lips stretched against mine for the briefest second before they softened again, pliable and pleading. Then he kissed me like he had all the time in the world. His hands threaded into my loose hair. He kissed my bottom lip, then my top, my cheeks, my nose, my eyes. He gently explored me, turning my desire up notch by notch until I was practically crying waiting for the man toreallykiss me. I whimpered in impatience when he pulled back.

His gaze drank in my strained expression and an amused smile toyed at his lips. Then his hands slipped around my waist and pulled me flush against him.

His mouth opened over mine and the heat of our kiss exploded. There was passion in his tongue and fire in his hands. I was dizzy with love and drunk on his hunger—incapable of doing anything but responding to his demands. We met each other move for move, touch for touch, kiss for kiss.

After a while, he turned us and pressed me flat onto the couch. Over me, his kiss was claiming. He led the way—tenderly, passionately, desperately.

My hands traveled down the plane of his back as tears filled my eyes.

He had loved mefor years.His kiss told the story.

I love you.I wanted to say it but couldn’t.

I love you so much.I let my kiss speak.

I’ll never stop giving you everything.I let desire grow.

When we finally pulled apart, tapped the brakes, and putsome distance between us, the flames on the hearth were losing steam, the gray ash pile growing.

Tag quietly whispered, “What the hell just happened?”

I gave a breathy laugh and smoothed my roughed-up appearance. Adjusting my shirt, I said, “I don’t know, but I’m down for round two any time.”

Tag laughed, placing his hand on his chest as he did. He paused and his eyes lingered on the dying fire. “Man, I’m starving.”

A few minutes later, we scrounged around the kitchen, pigged out on late night snacks like raccoons in a dumpster, and laughed until our sides hurt. Something about our fresh, new love made me feel high. I leaned into slapstick comedy, cracked jokes, and poked fun at Tag until his laugh turned into the soft squeaking sound I adored.

It was the night of our lives.

Incredibly, the kisses and laughter weren’t even the best part. A long time later, we found ourselves out on the chilly porch, soaking in the hot tub, whispering about the things in his past. We cried, held hands, and looked at the stars.

The intimacy we found in those moments—our fingers entwining underwater, the steam mingling with the tears on our faces, our trust building one minute at a time—far surpassed the exchange of a kiss or the rush of desire.

Exchanging our hearts, we built on our foundation—the one we started fourteen years ago in the hayloft.

And I knew, sitting there, looking into the boundless mountain sky, our love would beforever.

We lost track of time.

It was early morning now, but we didn’t care. Tag had stoked the fire a couple hours ago, and I laid across the couch with my head in his lap. My damp hair was swept to the side, the loose braid he’d weaved slowly undoing because I didn’t bother to find a rubber band.

I whispered, “So, itwas the Coke?”

“Yeah.” He swept the tips of his fingers down my arm, tickling my skin. “I drank Coke as a kid, but it’s been years since I’ve had one.”

“It took you back? Like, triggered you or something?”

He nodded. “I have these moments where I'm forced to live it all over again. Sometimes I feel like my body is back in the moment but my mind isn’t, other times I just feel afraid and don't know why, and then like the time with the Coke, I relived that particular memory as if...as if it was seriously happenin’ right then.”

“Were you aware at all?”

“Yeah, that's the weird thing. I was—vaguely. I kept feelin’ like someone else was with us.” From my vantage point, I had a view of his neck, chin, and adam's apple. Not only did I hear his voice—I felt it, rumbling through his stomach and vibrating in my ears.

He continued, “Miss Simone officially diagnosed me with PTSD after I finished some screenings.”

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