Page 46 of Until We Kiss

Except it’s not evening now—it’s an hour after sunrise, and we’re out in force on the beach, keeping Clua clean.

I’m at the edge of the cove, my rubber boot squelching on the craggy rock as I reach down, trying to avoid a black sea urchin, its spines wafting toward my hand.

This one is massive.

Sea urchins are cool as shit. They actually use hydraulic pressure to move, pushing water through their tube feet. And bonus fact—sand dollars are sea urchins, flattened from adapting to life on the shifting sand.

I grab a crushed aluminum can that’s wedged in the rock a few inches away, pinching it with my fingers and tugging it out. Its sharp edge could snag the softer underside of the urchin.

I drop the trash in a bag and straighten, sweeping my damp hair back while taking one last look down at where thosememories are so clear, then pick my way carefully to the beach, the sweet smell of flowers hitting my nose, and the morning sun heating my shoulders.

“Theo.” Sheri, one of the volunteers, waves and heads over. “Hey, I think we’re done on that side.” She points to the area her group is canvassing along the tree line, the sun making the trees behind them a brilliant green. “Anything else today?”

“Nah.” I scan the length of the beach, noting the groups of volunteers who are all finishing around the same time. I planned that way, of course. I’ve been the volunteer coordinator at Conserve Clua for the last six months now.

I love it. Who knew I would fall in love with this island?

But every day it feels farther away from Colorado, which is where Carter landed his first teaching job.

What I haven’t told him yet is that I put in my two weeks’ notice yesterday.

I’ll miss this place, but I want to be where he is. I’ll admit this: I’m still a work in progress. Or as Cater calls it,a bro in progress, always grinning at me through our FaceTime calls. Lighting me up, in the way he always does, just by being there.

I always get this sense of belonging when I see him. It’s not that I belong to him or he belongs to me, more just this space that feels right. I’m not all fixed up yet, but I really am good with beingme. And maybe I’ll always be a work in progress, that’s cool too.

“Thank you,” I say to Sheri, pointing at where to set the trash bags I’ll lug out later and then giving everyone in the group a fist bump before they head off. I close up with the next two groups that come by, the sun inching higher in the sky, warming the back of my neck and heating the sand so that I need to slide on some flip-flops from my bag after shrugging off my boots.

As everyone heads off, I grab my water bottle, then notice a missed call.

Shit, I’m smiling at his name.

I call him, FaceTime connecting, and then he’sthere.

I can’t explain how it feels. The instant brightness, the way he fills both the screen and my thoughts. How everything locks into the place where it belongs.

I am head over heels in love with him. Butterflies and nerves and the whole deal. And none of that has quelled over the last year. If anything, it’s more.

I miss him so fucking much, and it tightens my throat and then spills out before we even say hi.

“I love you,” I say as soon as his eyes focus on me. I know people usually keep that for the end of the conversation, but fuck it. That’s how I always open our calls. Unless he beats me to it.

He beams, face lighting like mine probably does.

His breath is quicker, like he’s walking somewhere. There’s blue sky behind him. Intensely bright blue, which is weird for Colorado this time of year.

“I love you, too,” he says. “Sorry, I’m walking.”

“I can tell.” I swing the phone so that he can see the beach. “I’m close to our spot.”

“Oh yeah?” A breeze whistles through the phone speaker. “Making it beautiful?”

“Yep.” I’m grinning so widely at the phone that my cheeks hurt. “It’s kinda our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“I wish we were together for it.”

His brows rise. “Do you?”

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