Page 46 of Runaway
“I talked to Seiko.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “She's fine paying $175 a night, plus $200 for the dining hall for a day. I upped it from $150 because you had wanted to pad the numbers a bit, but I couldn't remember how much. She's going to send it to me on the same app that our HomeBnB people pay, but she said she doesn't need to sign a contract. She's doing this as a friend because she knows it's our first time trying it. She also said she'll let me know if anything is missing or needed so we can do it better next time.”
Relief filled me. “Thank you.”
“I'm sorry.”
He sounded like a little boy, a bit lost. I frowned.
“For?”
“Not being organized. For frustrating you. I could be better at details. It's a habit of mine to pawn them off on other people and not follow up, and the follow-up is my responsibility. So . . . I'm sorry. It can be hard to work with me.”
Slowly, I straightened up until our shoulders nearly touched. I pulled my knees back into my chest and mimicked his gaze on the other side of the lake. The gentleness of this moment was at odds with the riotous feelings in my chest now that he sat next to me.
“I was being too sensitive,” I said. “I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and I'm sorry too. I think I need to redefine my expectations or . . . just be more malleable. I get too deep into the details that I become obsessed when sometimes the details don't matter as much as I like to think.”
“What can I do to make this easier for you?” he asked. “I'm not afraid of criticism or feedback. I can change things about myself if needed—or I can at least try.”
He paused as I thought his question out. The vulnerability I heard masked within it created a little fissure in my heart. Yes, Mark could be hard to work with. Yes, he had so many ideas and things running through his mind like wild squirrels that he missed things, and those missed things were important. But he was willing to take the truth. He would change what was needed in order to make my life easier. He'd even apologized when I was the one that should have done it first.
And I held a deep-rooted loyalty to him I'd never be able to explain.
Perhaps it was my new outlook on life, or maybe just a letting go, but I reached over to put my hand on top of his, then threaded my fingers through his and squeezed.
“Nothing,” I whispered. “I don't think you should change anything about yourself, Mark. We'll figure out how to communicate better and this won't be a problem. You save me, I save you.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. My stomach curled with heat when he flipped his hand over so our palms touched in an oddly intimate gesture. The feeling of his fingers wrapping around mine sent fire through my arm.
He turned to look at me and frowned. The beat of his heart pulsed through his throat as he gently whispered, “You've been crying.”
I nodded.
His gaze narrowed. “Why?”
“Because,” I murmured, “I think I'm . . . happy.”
He didn't pause to contemplate the absurd dichotomy of my response. Didn't realize how at-odds it sounded, even in my ears. Instead, he put a hand around my neck, pulled me into his space, and pressed his hot lips to mine.
I folded like a house of cards.
His other arm snaked around my waist, softening my collapse against his chest. I twined my arms around his neck, ran my fingers through the soft hairs at the back of his head. When he deepened the kiss, I felt it all the way to the edge of my body like a shot of fire.
Mark yanked me closer until my legs straddled his lap and there was no space between us. Both of his hands found my hair, tugged on it. His arms wound around my waist in a locked embrace that took my breath away. Nothing existed in the gap between us except a fiery passion that I'd never felt.
Not once.
When my breath ran out and reasoning blurred, Mark pulled away. Both of his hands framed my face. His fingertips scrubbed my scalp and his thumb brushed across my cheek. My stomach flipped over and over as I stared into his hazy gaze, thick with passion.
Instead of speaking, he pressed one last, lazy kiss to my lips. Then he wrapped me in his arms, pulled me into him until my face was buried in his neck, and I breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in my life.
18
Mark
My brain stopped functioning.
When Stella and I finally untangled ourselves from the end of the pier, I felt fuzzy around the edges. She didn't protest when I wrapped her hand in mine and we wordlessly walked away, the quiet lake at our backs. Neither of us spoke—not sure I'd be capable of it—as we stepped back into my cabin and the silence there. She resumed her place at my desk but blinked at her laptop.
I sat on the couch and ran a hand through my hair, ignoring my phone as it rang.
