Page 31 of The Wild Beneath

Once they start, it’s impossible to stop.

The summer is a rolling tangle of them as they make up for lost time. Their encounters are hidden and heated and never long enough, as far as Annie is concerned.

Early July: a swim off the bow. Under the water, Evan’s hands find her waist, her calves. She wraps her legs around his, then pulls him under to kiss him.

Late July: a laundry run into Hale’s Wharf in the late evening, when the place is abandoned. Evan lifts Annie up onto a coin-operated washer mid-cycle. The machine rumbles, and the metal is cool against her thighs. His mouth is hot, his fingertips inch under her shirt, up her back, around her ribcage.

Mid-August: a hike to the outcrop while Aiden repairs Ruth’s porch stairs. Off the trail, hidden away, Evan pulls Annie against a hemlock. How long do they kiss? Time melts inside the circle of his arms, the scent of mulch and sweat. He unhooks her bra and pushes her T-shirt up. Her nipple is a peak in his mouth. Thoughts disintegrate, leaving only the sweet taste of him on her tongue, the earth under her feet, the wood against her back.

Annie wants to stretch the summer out, make the minutes and days longer. But it slips by, and September arrives. They’re leaving to sail south before she can grab hold.

“I brought dinner.” Wearing a backpack, Evan climbs aboardAmphitriteon the last night. The sky burns pink and orange. “Can I take Annie to the outcrop for the sunset?”

“You can eat here,” Mara says at the same time Aiden says, “Come back before it’s dark.”

“We’ll eat and come right back down,” Annie says. “Promise.”

“Sounds like fun,” Aiden says.

“But not too far,” Mara says.

Evan tightens the backpack straps. “We’ll be in shouting distance if you need us.”

They’re wordless on the hike up the trail. Annie is nervous, her skin awash with tingles. At the top, Evan arranges a small area of mulch and pine needles, removing the twigs and branches. He spreads out a blanket.

“I’m not hungry,” Annie says.

“I didn’t bring dinner.”

His lips are on hers immediately. He pulls her to the ground, moving on top of her, their legs entwined. He stops to look into her eyes.

She wants to say: I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t want to leave. Don’t ever kiss anyone else.

Instead, she peels off her hoodie and tank top. “I want you closer,” she says into his mouth.

His shirt is off, her bra tossed aside. Annie shimmies out of her leggings. He lowers her underwear over her hips and down her legs. He kisses the back of her knee, dragging his tongue along the inside of her thigh. She gasps, rocking her hips toward him. An eagle soars above, releasing a single, high-pitched note.

“More,” Annie says. She unhooks his belt, then pushes his jeans and boxers down and over his thighs. He kicks them off and hovers over her.

“How much more?” He closes his eyes and tilts his forehead onto hers.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks.

His eyes are open now, his pupils dilated. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I didn’t want to assume.” He grabs for the backpack. “But I wanted to be prepared.”

She drinks him in: the paler skin of his thighs, that place she likes above his hip bone. The curve of his abdomen andwashboard of his obliques. He pulls out a condom from an inside pocket of the backpack and rolls it on. It’s so intimate to watch. Instinctively, she crosses her arms to cover her breasts.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“I’m nervous.”

He traces his fingers over her cheek, his thumb across her lower lip. He wraps the second blanket around them. “Annie. We don’t have to do this. Not at all.”

“I want to.”