Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Epilogue: The End

The relationship I have with him now was the kind of relationship I always dreamed of having with someone. We didn’t need words to tell each other how much we cared. We understood each other with just one look, could have a whole conversation with a smile. Some of the nights I went over his house we didn’t even talk, just sat in a peaceful silence that only came with two people that understood each other to the fullest, and I knew that was us.

The boat pitched slightly and I squealed, gripping onto the ledge. Quinton chuckled and smirked over at me, looking smug.

“Come on, sailor,” he teased my outfit, the one I had gotten just for him, and one that had given me an epiphany, and I frowned at him. “You haven’t even got your sea legs yet? We’ve been out here for a good half hour.”

“Sea legs this, Lancaster,” I called, sending him the stink eye.

He burst out laughing.

“Why are we here?” I asked him, starting to sound whiney I’m sure, but my head was spinning and I was getting a little anxious with the lack of land. I trusted Quinton and all, but I didn’t want to end up like Tom Hanks on Castaway. I draw the line at creating best friends with inanimate objects once you are over the age of ten.

Quinton just smiled at my question, but I was just surprised he was still responding; I had been asking it the last three days without answer. The only thing close to a response that he managed to give me were his cryptic smiles and nothing more—the tease. I had been trying to figure out why he had been so anxious for this moment for the last week or more, wondering why he wanted to go sailing so badly, and even now that I was out in the middle of the harbor I couldn’t really figure it out.

“Just wait for it,” he told me, smiling. “Almost there.”

“Almost where?” I demanded but, not shockingly, he didn’t respond.

We sailed for another ten minutes, and as I sat down in the middle of the boat, hugging my knees to my chest, I couldn’t help but to admit that I understood why he enjoyed it so much. The rocking was rhythmic and almost soothing if you closed your eyes and the sound of the water was a constant sound that could have lulled me to sleep. It was peaceful out here, away from people and all of their problems, away from all sounds but the crashing of waves over and over again, a constant pattern. It was nothing but the sea and the sky and the line where they met in between, the blues blending into each other.

Hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest, and his chin moved on my shoulder as he asked, “Nice, isn’t it?”

I nodded, not wanting to break the peace with the sound of my voice, and I felt him smile from where he was pressing his face against the skin on my neck. His hands tightened around me before he twisted me around, turning me to face him, and he pulled me closer to his chest, kissing the top of my head. I relaxed against him, holding myself to him softly, like I was afraid that the moment would shatter if I moved too quickly. The shirt Quinton was wearing was as thin as it was revealing on the arms, and I could feel the heat of the sun against his skin, turning the skin a golden brown. He ran a hand through my hair, tangling his fingers in the strands.