“And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She goes quiet. We both sit there with that sentence, and all that it implies.
It’s like getting stuck in a riptide, the ocean pushing me forward and sucking me down and back. There’s grief and guilt and loss, and then there’s the simple truth of Elle, sitting in front of me, so stunning in the dim light of dancing flame I can’t take my eyes off her.
She ducks her chin, her eyes averted. “You don’t have to say that.”
What’s the thing about a riptide? If you struggle against it, if you try to resist it directly, you tire and drown. The trick is to swim sideways.
The way back to life isn’t a straight line.
I let the grief and the guilt finish washing over me, and then I reach out and take Elle’s small, cool hand in mine.
“You know me pretty well by now,” I say.
She nods. Her eyes are still and bright on my face, her expression wary. I want to wipe the wariness away.
“I don’t talk much.”
She nods again.
“And I sure as fuck don’t say shit I don’t mean.”