Page 134 of The Long Way Home
Rachel stands and looks over to me. “Let’s go, cowboy,” she says, flicking her fingers at me.
I raise a brow. “Cowboy?”
“Did you think I forgot the mechanical bull incident in college?”
“That’s uncalled for. You pinky promised me you would never speak of that night.” I hold up both hands. “As I remember, you were the one responsible for feeding me Tequila shots and providing me with a very persuasive pep talk to get on that bull.”
“God, that was such a fun night.”
I follow her out to the dance floor as the band starts a new song. She turns to face me and, without any sign of hesitation, slides her hands up around my shoulders.
“Don’t step on my feet,” she says, brows lifting. “I’m wearing sandals. I value my toes.”
“Funny, because I was gonna say the same to you.” I pull her flush with me. “Minus the sandals.”
“I’m serious, Rhett. One wrong move and I lose a toe. I’m too pretty to only have nine toes.”
“Give me the benefit of the doubt, would ya?”
Her fingers slide down my forearm, finding my hand, her thumb brushing lazily over my knuckles.
I guide her around, my palm firm at the small of her back, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breath. She spins effortlessly, her dress swaying, and ends up exactly where I want her. Tucked in close, and a little breathless.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, eyes flicking down, widening.
“What? I swear I didn’t step on any of your toes.”
“You’ve gotten better.”
“Excuse me?”
Her lips curve into a slow, mischievous grin. “I don’t remember you being a good dancer.”
“Well, last time we danced, you were a little tense. I’m not sure you would have let me remind you.”
She lets her head rest against me, her hair brushing my jaw, and I can feel her laughing more than I can hear it. Tiny vibrations that work their way through my ribs.
She tilts her head up. “You still smell like lake water and sunscreen. It’s oddly comforting.”
“That’s just my natural cologne.Eau de Summer.”
She giggles, an actual giggle, and it sends a warm, unexpected jolt through me, curling low in my chest.
We move in easy circles, no big flourishes or steps. I spin her once more just to hear that laugh again, and when she stumbles back into me, I catch her.
“This feels…” she says quietly. “It feels like we were always supposed to end up back here. At this lake.”
“Yeah, I think we were.”
I pull her a little closer. With Rachel, it’s not just about sparks. She is my gravity. We’ve been orbiting each other for most of our lives, and I’ve been waiting a long time to land.
Eventually, we all wander back to the house in loose, sleepy waves. Margo disappears into the room with Anderson. Slone retreats upstairs with a yawn and a wave. One by one, doors click shut.
I unfold the pull-out couch in the den and toss the extra blanket over it. Half-settled, remote still in hand, I notice her before she says a word. Rachel stands in the doorway, oversized sweatshirt draped over her. The same one I gave her ten years ago, after that cold night she forgot a jacket.
“Is that my sweatshirt?”
She nods her head. Her eyes flick to me, then to the pull-out couch, then back to me.
