One Summer Isn't Enough (Summer, #4)

chapter 10

CONRAD

I swear to God, waking up in Hawaii is just different. Especially when it's next to her.

Last night was...unreal. I was so proud of her for being so strong. And the feeling of being as physically close to her as possible made me fall even more in love with her. As if that's possible.
When I wake up in the morning, our clothes are strewn out on the floor, and Belly is still fast asleep next to me, her hair fanning out on the pillow and her makeup almost completely gone. The golden Hawaiian sunlight bathes her face, painting golden glints in her hair and giving the whole room an ethereal glow to it.

I lay back down and tuck a lock of her hair behind her hair, and she stirs awake. Smiling sleepily at me, she says, "Good morning."

I bend down to kiss her. "Good morning."

After a few minutes of fooling around (when in Rome), Belly sits up and claps her hands together, beginning to list what we were going to accomplish on our first of four days in Hawaii. Today we're going to Manoa Falls, which is supposed to be a really beautiful stretch of forest with a somewhat hidden waterfall. We're both really excited for it, so after playing a round of rock, paper, scissors to see who got to shower first, Belly jumps off of the bed and goes to dig out clothes from her suitcase (I'm really good at the game, but unfortunately, she's better).

In about an hour, we've showered, packed essentials to take with us, breakfasted, and are on our way to the waterfall. While Belly was showering, I made sure to slip my honeymoon gift to her in my pocket: a charm bracelet. So far, it only has one charm on it–a glass pendant that says Hawaii with a palm tree and two seagulls–but my plan is to buy her a new charm every day to represent one special thing we did on each day of our honeymoon. I know how much she loves bracelets, and more than that, I know how much her inner six-year-old LOVES bracelets that make jingly sounds. And I remember how much the charm bracelet that my mom gave her meant to her; hopefully, this one takes something of the same meaning.

In the car, I'm riding shotgun, since Belly insisted on driving. Watching her drive, so confident and just giddy with happiness, makes me feel like I'm on top of the world. It sounds corny as hell, and definitely not something I think on a normal basis, but when I look over and see her driving stick like she means business, the new and polished infinity necklace resting on her neck, it makes me feel so damn lucky that she chose me. She could've had literally any guy of her choosing, and she picked me.

We arrive at the place, and lucky for us, there's almost no one here. That makes sense, considering how we're here on a Tuesday, but it makes us both sigh with relief all the same. One thing we both share between us: we hate crowded places. It's always kind of been like that with the two of us: while Jere and Steve preferred loud, busy places, like the arcade–or, as they got older, nightclubs–Belly and I have always been the two who stayed back at the beach house, minding our own business.

There's a short trek up to the actual waterfall but with the serenity that you can only find in nature and the fact that the weather literally couldn't get any better, neither of us mind at all. And we're both dressed appropriately, with Belly in a flowy black top tucked into patterned white, black, and orange shorts, and me in my khaki shorts and olive-green button-down, rolled up at the elbows. And when we're finally in front of the waterfall, Belly gasps and leans her head against my arm, starting to say, "It's..."

"...perfect," I finish, looking down at her awestruck expression. Because it really is. Surrounded by greenery, the mist of the water enveloping us like a sugar cloud, I really can't think of a better word to describe the experience than perfect.