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I CLUNG TO Weston like an enormous wave would crash onto the shore and rip him from me, swallowing him whole. My tears stained his shirt while anger built inside me, then fizzled out in relief that he was safe and here.
"You look beautiful, Ivey," he whispered, and my chest ached. "I'm sorry for not being here sooner. I heard your speech, though, and you did amazing."
His comment caught me by surprise, and I looked up. Almost instantly, his thumb brushed my tears away. "You heard it? How?"
"I was in the parking lot."
"How long?"
"Uh—" A fleeting smile appeared before he averted his eyes toward the ocean. "I sat in my car for a while and couldn't bring myself to join the party."
I pulled away, facing him. "Wes..."
"It's okay. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
Reaching out, I touched his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand. Tears welled in my eyes for the millionth time tonight while I stared at him. All the words I wanted to say clawed their way up my throat.
"I have to leave, Weston." My voice was barely audible.
His eyes open. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going back to Washington."
He paused. "When?"
"Wednesday."
I waited for him to say something, but he never did.
His face was stoic, and I couldn't tell how he felt. The cheering from the party echoed in the distance as Nora announced the amount of money raised for the charity.
The lump in the back of my throat ached each time I swallowed.
He pushed off the ground, brushed the sand off his dress pants, and extended his hand. My forehead wrinkled, and I hesitantly took it; he didn't let go when I was on my feet. Instead, he laced our fingers together and said, "Come on."
Peering over my shoulder, I glanced at my parent's memorial one last time, realizing that would be the last time I would see it for a while. A hollow feeling tried wedging inside me, but I wouldn't let it.
While Weston started his car, I collected my phone and purse from mine and slid into his passenger seat without caring that I was leaving my car behind.
Not a single word was spoken during our drive home.
He had yet to acknowledge the bomb I dropped on the beach about leaving, though his silence told me all I needed to know—he was just as confused. We knew we couldn't move on with life pretending nothing was happening between us, but finding a solution was even more complicated.
As we drove closer, my leg bounced vigorously, then suddenly stopped when Wes reached across the middle console and splayed his hand over my thigh. The silk fabric of my dress rubbed against my skin, and heat bloomed in my core from his touch.
I looked to where his hand rested, then at him.
Despite the darkness, hunger flickered in his brown eyes, and the pressure in my body doubled. That was the exact moment I knew tonight would further complicate things.
He parked in his driveway and turned his car off; the hum from the engine died, and stillness hung between us. Now that his hand was gone, my thigh was extra cold from where his palm had been. Even though our little bubble of land was quiet for the most part, Clifton felt desolate with everyone congregated at the park tonight—like Weston, and I were the only two people here.
"Are you going to say anything?" my question came out louder than expected.
He stared out of the windshield at the blue paneling of his house. "I don't know what to say," he said, and I chewed on my lip to feel something more painful than my anxiety. "What do you want me to say?"
I looked at him, and he looked at me.
"I don't want you to ask me to stay."
"Okay," he nodded. "I won't."
"But I don't want you to let me go that easily."
He scanned my face tenderly and said, "I would never have let you go that easily, Ivey."
My heart tripped over his words which slammed into me like a ton of bricks.
I sat, unmoving, wracking my brain for something to say, but I couldn't conjure a single worthy reply. All I came up with was either 'thank you' or 'I've come to realize I like you too much to end things,' even though our relationship had barely begun.
His gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips.
Every breath and movement we made was amplified by the unearthly silence of the car.
Unable to stand the whirring tension, I reached for the door and climbed out of the car. He was right behind me but remained a few steps from where I stood, facing the water.
"Weston?" His name bounced off the gentle current.
"Yeah?"
"What do you want?" I turned around to meet his stare and found him leaning against the car, his hands tucked in his pockets, watching me. The white light from the moon melted through the trees and onto his face.
"I think it's pretty obvious what I want."
I swallowed as he pushed off the car and sauntered toward me.
My arms hung limp at my side while his hand slipped past my waist to the small of my back, pulling me against him. I draped my arms around his neck as the tip of his nose brushed mine, and my limbs turned into jello. It took all my willpower not to kiss him, and I wanted to savor the moment.
"What if what you want is complicated?"
"I can handle complicated." His words were hot against my lips.
"Okay," was the last thing I said before his mouth was on mine.
His cold fingertips trailed up my spine, over the open back of my dress. A shiver rippled through me, and my lips parted, needing, wanting him to kiss me deeper. The taste of whisky and champagne whirled between us.
Our mouths danced, his head turning left, mine turning right until I was dizzy enough to pull away and breathe. He took the opportunity to grip the side of my neck and kiss down my jaw and over the nape of my neck.
With each kiss, Weston numbed my pain.
The pain of my parent's death.
The pain from everyone in Clifton still whispering about me.
And the pain from the thought of leaving Wes behind.
"Do you want to come inside with me?" he met my eyes, and I couldn't help but notice his lips were a beautiful swollen shade of pink.
I nodded and followed him into the house.
Masie greeted us sleepily while Weston turned on lamps until the living room glowed a cozy orange. My heart hadn't stopped drumming against my ribs, and it only sped up when he turned to look at me again.
I wished I could have taken a photo of him then. Instead, I captured a mental picture of him in his tux, with his top three buttons undone and his hair disheveled from kissing. Who knew if this would be one of the last evenings together?
He started walking toward the staircase. Wordlessly, I trailed behind, holding my heels in my hand. With every step closer to his bedroom, reality weighed down on me.
The moon reflected off the water and into his window, giving us enough light to see each other.
"Do you want to talk?" he asked.
I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to talk about his absence, about my parents, the fundraiser, or the aftermath of whatever was about to happen. All I wanted was to be with him, in our perfect bubble, and pretend there was not a large needled named 'Ivey's leaving' waiting to pop it.
He took my answer as an invitation—dipping down to meet my mouth. My hands were splayed against his hard chest when he began walking backward until the back of his knees collided with the bed, then he spun me around and laid me on the mattress.
Just when I thought he would continue, the mattress leveled as he climbed off and peered down. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, his fingers grazing my thigh where the slit of my dress had fallen open. The hair on my arms rose, and my lips parted, drawing in a faint breath.
He must have noticed his effect on me because a tiny grin lifted the apple of his cheek.
I sat up, my legs settling between his, and said, "I like it when you smile."
He cupped the sides of my face with both broad hands—the warmth radiated onto my already hot cheeks—and the most brilliant smile took over his expression. I took another mental picture.
Then we were kissing again—him on top of me, our hands tracing each other's bodies, desperately memorizing every curve and line as if they would be erased from our minds when we parted.
My head was spinning, and my heart was heavy, yet Weston always brought me back to earth. "Hey, hey," he'd whisper, ushering me. "Come back to me."
And I did.
We were on our knees. Weston's fingers hooked under the strap of my dress, and I nodded before he could ask to take off my dress.
Taking his time, he let the straps fall, then, with one gentle tug, the rest of the satiny dress glided down my torso. His eyes scanned my bare chest, he hesitated to touch, but I took the initiative and reached for his shirt. With every button I unclasped, my blood pulsed harder.
He groaned. "I'm glad you stepped on that nail."
My head tipped back as laughter poured from me. "Only you would say something so terrible and make it sound attractive."
"So, you think I'm attractive?"
"Absolutely not. Actually, I think you're quite revolting."
His thumb caressed the spot below my breast, and I made a sound. "It's not nice to lie, Ivey."
"Welcome to Clifton," I said sweetly.
We took turns removing each other's clothing until they were in a pile beside his bed. His fingers found the tender spot between my thighs, and I groaned into his mouth at the blossoming pressure bellowing inside my body.
The only thing I could do without thinking was kiss his neck, which had the faintest scent of old cologne and a sweet smell that could only be described as his.
I reached under the covers for him only to find him hard against my hand. His eyes rolled back into their sockets before he closed them fully, letting his head fall back against the pillow.
His fingers still moved against me, but I grabbed his wrist to stop them, giving him and him a break. "Let me touch you," I whispered, watching pleasure take over his features.
I got a really good looked at him then. The hard lines of his jaw, the smooth skin where his stubble usually was, his thick eyelashes, the curve of his cupid's bow. He was so beautiful; the sight of him shattered me.
I wasn't sure how long we explored each other's bodies before he reached for his nightstand to get a condom. Right before he pushed inside me, he kissed my lips quickly and gently, then settled inside.
His weight was sweet and heavy like an anchor, bracing me.
And then we were moving; I felt myself unraveling for him.
He said my name against my skin pleadingly, and I said his back as an answer. I was so overwhelmed by my feelings for him flooding to the surface that I tucked my head into the crook of his neck, and he cradled the back of my head, holding me taught against his body.
The tension grew stronger. "Please," I begged, not knowing what I was even begging for. For a release? For him to keep going? One thing I did know was for him not to stop. I wanted this moment to last as long as possible, but I didn't know how long I could fight my body.
"Fuck, Ivey," he gripped my knees, plunging deeper.
I held the back of my hand over my mouth to suppress a moan, but he quickly interlaced his fingers with mine and pinned my hand above my head. "I want to hear you."
A whimper escaped my lips, and I gave him what he wanted. He touched me with his free hand, and I cried out as that sphere of pressure expanded, stretching until the only thing it could do was shatter, sending ripples of pleasure through me.
Weston watched me finish and then let himself go.
He crumbled beside me, both of us a sweaty mess. I laughed between our panting, and then he laughed as we watched the ripples of light reflecting from the water onto his ceiling.
I turned my head only to find him already staring.
"Stay the night?" he asked.
"Yes."
I fell asleep content in the Blue House, beyond the waves that night. I discovered no ghosts were lingering here, only a quiet, astonishing man who held me, whispering that everything would be alright.
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