Page 63 of Something like Desire

I walk down the overgrown path until I find the clearing, where I lay back in the grass, staring up at the slices of sky between the spaces in the canopy of branches, looking at hints of clouds and a glimmer of sun. The air smells fresh, with just a trace of wet earth. The creek’s trickling in the background and the birds are singing together, in a chorus of different chirps that somehow blend.

After about an hour, absorbed in this peacefulness, an idea comes to me, and I fill my notebook with words. Miraculously, the story idea I came up with last time I was here returns to me, and I have the perfect opening. A conversational tone with a hint of mystery. It pours out of me like it was percolating for the last months and is finally ready to be released.

There’s a rustling in the trees and at first, I think it’s a deer, orshit, maybe a bear, and then I realize what I was secretly hoping might happen might actually be happening. My heart skips a beat, and I tell myself to stay calm because what I really want to do is run to him, throw myself into his arms, but he’s got his camera with him, and I don’t want to break it.

When our eyes meet, his face breaks out in a warm smile. “You’re here,” he says. “I hoped that you would be.”

“After you told me you’d like to come here for the Fourth of July, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

My feet have a mind of their own. I’m stepping forward, closer, closer, until Zach pulls me into his embrace and I can feel his heart thumping through his T-shirt. I press my body into his so that he can feel that mine is beating just as hard. “How have you been?” he says into my hair.

“Good. Really good. You?”

“I’ve been good too. Better now, though.” He takes my hand and gently pulls me into a seated position beside him on the grass. He takes my chin in his hand and lifts it and gazes at me like he’s memorizing my face. We sit like that for a while, quiet, letting our eyes do the talking.

“You brought your camera,” I finally say, breaking the long silence.

“I want some shots for my place,” Zach says. “Do you mind if I take one of you?”

I shrug. “I’m not much of a model, but okay, sure. How should I pose?” I run my hands through my wild waves.

“You shouldn’t,” Zach says. He gestures to my notebook. “I want one of you writing. Pretend I’m not here.”

I try to do that, pretending I’m back on my own again, with the words flowing. Zach takes several shots and then comes back over to me. He scrolls through the photos and shows me a very candid one of me with a contemplative look on my face. I guess I wouldn’t mind if he printed that one.

“Not bad,” I say, glancing from the screen to his mouth, remembering how his kiss used to feel, soft at first, then certain.

Zach feels it too. I see it in the way he leans in. Our lips meet, gently at first, then fierce, months of anticipation sparking into something reckless. The kiss is fast, uneven, all breath and heat and need.

He eases me down onto the forest floor, the ground cool beneath us, his hands warm against my skin as he slips my dress over my head. I pull off his T-shirt, unbuckle his belt, and he wriggles free of his jeans and boxers. I take him into my mouth, and he groans, a sound that makes me want to please him even more. I quicken my pace, my tongue tracing and teasing.

When he pulls my panties to the side and lowers himself into me, my body feels like it has something back that it was missing.

I shift, urging him to lie back, and slip off my panties and climb on top of him. His hands slide up my thighs, steadying me, guiding me into the rhythm that builds between us.

We move together, slow at first, then quicker. His hands grip my hips, skin sliding against skin, breath and heartbeat tangled.

The world around us blurs, just the rustle of grass, the soft sounds we make, the rise and fall of our movements. Time feels stretched, elastic, like we’re suspended inside it. Every motion builds on the last, until there’s nothing but heat and pulse and the need to keep going.

I try to hold on, to drag it out, but it’s already too much. The tension snaps, and release charges through me, fierce and unstoppable, leaving me shaking.

I fall back onto the grass, breathless. Zach rolls on top of me, pressing deeper until he finishes, his weight collapsing into mine.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The night hums around us and our breathing settles back into sync. He pulls the picnic blanket over us, and I let myself sink into him, into the stillness.

We let it all go, except for us. In this moment. Together.

We’ve been here for hours, the flaming orange sun having dipped below the horizon, dusk descending, and the air’s crisp.

We hold each other, neither of us willing to let go. We hold each other and watch the sky become dark, catching glimpses of stars beneath the canopy of trees.

We murmur to each other about our jobs and our lives until we’re almost all caught up.

I roll onto my side and prop myself up on my elbow. “Ask me again.”

“Are you talking about months ago in the car?” Zach asks, turning on his side to face me.

“Yes.”