Page 82 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
Why would he agree to any of this? Why would he uproot his life for me?
The sensation of his callused fingertips on my temples makes breathing impossible.
“Anything else, darlin’?” Van’s voice is darker, grittier than I’ve ever heard it.
I want to hide. I want to slink off into the night, but I open my eyes. “No.”
He studies me, his gaze drifting slowly over my face. “Why don’t I tell you what I want?”
I nod, the tension in my muscles enough to crush my bones.
“I want hot wings after the hardware store…”
A punchy breath leaves my lungs, and the relief rushing my body is so overwhelming that an unexpected tear tracks down my cheek.
“I want you to challenge me every day,” he says, catching it with his thumb. “I want to buy a surfboard and get sunburnt more than I should.”
I laugh, the sound watery as another tear escapes.
Van soothes that one away as well. “I want to work at the hospital on the mainland, but not as many hours as I did before. Something livable, something that allows me to pick wildflowers and put them in a vase in our living room and make dinner most nights when you get home from class. I want to tell Mama we’re married. I want to shout that you’remy wifefrom every rooftop in this town. I want this life with you, Geneva.”
“Gen,” I correct, and Van’s dimpled smile winks back at me.
When I rise on tiptoe, Van meets me halfway. Our kiss is tender, nothing like the heat of the one by the stage, but by now, I’ve learned that these kisses mean more. The air between us hums, and from behind my closed eyes, I see a flurry of light. We break the kiss to find ourselves in a vortex of thousands of fireflies.
“This island,” Van murmurs.
He continues to watch the circling insects, astonished, but with Van’s face lit with tiny pulses of light, I finally voice what’s long settled in my heart. “I’m falling for you.”
My husband chuckles, his focus returning to me. “That’s good, because I’m past falling. I’m shattered on the floor. The first time I heard your laugh in Vegas, it stole my breath long before your elbow did. And after getting to know you…” He shakes his head, grinning. “I never stood a chance.”
“Oh,” I say, my voice breathy.
Van presses close until his lips hover over mine. “Now, are you going to stop fighting me and let me love you?”
Dizzying warmth coils low in my stomach, sharp and sweet, as a slow smirk spreads across my lips.
“I’ll love you, but I’ll never stop fighting you.”
When Van’s lips crush over mine, the fireflies dissipate, and nothing in this world exists except the two of us.
thirty-five
Van
The swift afternoon breeze tickles my cheek the following Tuesday as I finish up the siding. Geneva and I painted Sunday afternoon and all of yesterday until she left to teach her popular Monday night class. The house now fits with the peach, yellow, and seaside blue of her neighbors—not that Geneva would care about fitting in. I’m just glad she picked a color that makesher happy.
Sunday night, we went to dinner at Joanna’s after breaking the news to Mama. At first, she was madder than a bull in a hornet’s nest, but her voice caught on the video call as she welcomed Geneva to the family.
Geneva asked if Mama and Mark had time for us to visit sometime soon, saying she wanted to get to know her better. That made Mama’s eyes mist over, and she blamed allergies as she set the phone down to find some tissues.
After we disconnected, I kissed my wife breathless. I’m not sure how I got this lucky, but I’ll never take a second for granted.
It turns out Mama couldn’t wait to meet Geneva in person, because she asked if we could visit this coming weekend. Being in Nashville will give me the opportunity to not only show Geneva my favorite music spots but tie up some business as well. I’d like to say goodbye to colleagues and officially resign. Since my medical director is a romantic at heart, I know she’ll understand. Closing out my apartment should be easy. I’d always worked so many hours that I never put any personality into it.
Not like Geneva’s—not likeourhouse.
A contented sigh leaves me as I rub my forehead with the back of my hand. Prunella and Stella peck at the clover beyond the tarp dotted with splats of pink paint while Hank inches closer to my boots, clucking softly.
