Knox drives and I lean my head against the door and let the wind whip my hair across my face.
He drives through downtown and keeps going. We end up on Harrison's road, passing the scene of my accident. I don't ask where he is taking me. For me, it's an exercise in conquering fear. Learning to trust my instincts again.
After another minute, he stops in front of an aluminum gate and hops out of the truck. He quickly unlocks the chain and drags the gate open, then gets back in.
We're surrounded by endless woods and the night is dark except for his headlights and a distant moon that lights the treetops.
The truck bumps along the rugged dirt road that winds through the pine trees. I'm not exactly sure where we are, but I know we're near the lake. A few of my friends have houses near here.
We turn a corner and a house comes into view. I don't get a good look at it, but I do notice a blue tarp covers one side of the roof. There are black marks like scars against the white paint near the roof and windows. Signs of a fire. In the darkness, it's hard to tell the extent of the damage.
"What is this place?" I ask.
"This is my dream house," he says.
I'm not sure if he's joking until I look at him and see the excitement in his eyes. He's completely serious.
I look at it again with fresh eyes. I can see the potential here, maybe. I want to get a closer look.
"Show me," I say.
He opens the door for me and I take his hand as he helps me down. The simple contact sends shivers up my arm.
I leave my heels in the car. He leads me to the small screened-in porch at the back of the house. It's very dark now, without the truck's lights, but he bends down and turns on a camping lamp. He lifts it up like we're explorers in some kind of cave and we enter the old house together.
"Watch your step," he says, pointing out a burned piece of wood on my left. "Stay on this side."
"What happened here?" I look around and see the beauty of this place. It's older than I realized at first. There's a lingering scent of smoke, but I can also smell the heart-pine of the floors. An archway still stands between this back room and the kitchen, but the rest of the house on that side is ruined. The detail of the woodwork that survived, though, is breathtaking.
"Kitchen fire," he says. He shakes his head and stares at where the kitchen once stood. "About ten years ago."
"It's just been sitting here empty this whole time?"
He leads me down the central hallway where a large staircase leads up to the second floor. "Yeah. My uncle didn't really have the money to put into fixing it," he says. "I hate to see it like this, though. My grandfather built it when he first got married. My uncle and my mom both grew up here. That's part of the reason I decided to move down here. I thought I'd try my hand at fixing it up myself."
He runs his hand along the railing.
"My mom really loved this place," he says.
"Does she know you're fixing it up?" I ask.
He shakes his head and there's a sadness in his eyes. "My mom died from cancer when I was fourteen."
A heavy feeling settles in my stomach. "I'm so sorry."
"The house has some really beautiful bones to it," he continues, but I can tell he's a bit shaken up from talking about her. "Just look at these banisters. All of this was hand-carved by my grandfather. I think it's worth saving."
I stare at the way his hand runs so gently across the top of the wood. There's such love in his touch. Such passion.
He must miss her with all his heart.
I am struck with the desire to place my hand on top of his, and I look away, swallowing hard.
He shines the light up toward the ceiling. "See the old bead-board ceilings? You don't really see that kind of work and craftsmanship anymore. It's really cool."
"It is."
Only, I'm not really looking at the ceiling. I'm looking at him, thinking how this is the last place in the world I expected to end up tonight.
"What?" he asks, lowering the light. "You think I'm crazy for trying to save all this?"
"No." I shake my head. "I was thinking how crazy it is that I'm here at two in the morning with a complete stranger looking at an old burned down house. This night has been so... strange."
"Well, I didn't really bring you here to see the house," he says, a smile lighting up his eyes with mischief. "We came here to blow off steam, right?"
He grabs my hand and leads me through the front door and out onto the porch.
My eyes widen. The large wrap-around porch looks straight out to the moonlit lake. It's so beautiful out here, it takes my breath away.
He sets the light on the porch and lets go of my hand. Immediately, I miss the warmth of him. He walks down the steps and begins pulling his shirt up and over his head. Even in the dim light of the moon, I can see the ripple of muscles in his arms and back and my breath quickens.
Just what exactly does he have in mind?
He turns, walking backwards with a glint in his eye. "Come on, then," he says, tossing his shirt to the ground. He reaches for the buckle on his belt and my heart skips.
The buzz from the alcohol has long since faded, but there's a new buzz starting deep in my belly and it makes me light-headed. I haven't felt this way in a very long time. Maybe ever.
I follow him to the edge of the lake. At first, I think we're heading toward the dock and I suddenly realize he means for us to go swimming. But he turns and disappears into the woods, surprising me again.
"Where are you going?" I ask, laughing and shaking my head. He's the most wonderfully surprising guy I've ever met.
Seconds later, his blue jeans hit the ground at the edge of the trees and the fire in my belly spreads lower. I'm not sure I'm ready for this, but I'm not sure I want to leave either.
There's a tiny voice inside that tells me to panic. To run.
But there's a louder voice that says this guy is different. He gets me somehow. And he has never once pushed me or made a move toward me that felt rushed or uninvited. I stare down at his discarded clothes and wonder just what in the world he has planned.
I hear rustling in the trees, then Knox shouts as he flies by, holding tight to a rope that swings out over the mirrored water. He lets go and before he hits the water, his eyes meet mine. I laugh and bring my fist to my lips, not sure I've smiled so freely in months.
He disappears beneath the surface for a moment, then breaks up, shaking the water from his head.
"Well?" he shouts.
"Well, what?" I shout back.
"You coming in or what?"
The rope is still swinging at the edge of the water. I eye it, bouncing slightly on my toes, unsure what to do. I've never been the impulsive type. I'm usually the girl who plans everything, which is probably why I have such a hard time when things go wrong.
"I don't think I can," I say, scrunching my nose. I want to, but it's so ridiculous. Swimming in the lake in the middle of the night?
"Why not?" he asks, laughing. He's treading water, and I'm glad there's almost a full moon tonight. Otherwise, I'm not sure how well I'd be able to even see him out there. "What are you so afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid," I say, but I'm lying. I'm terrified. Not of the water or the rope. I'm terrified of what I'm feeling for him and how perfect he seems to be. I don't deserve this. I don't know what to do with this.
"If you're not afraid, then what the hell are you waiting for?"
The sadness I've been carrying around for so long urges me to take a step back, away from the edge of this mountaintop. But there's a growing hope that tells me to seize this moment with both hands.
What the hell am I waiting for?
Breathless, I jog toward the woods, slip out of my jeans and toss them to the side. I reach out for the swinging rope, catching it on its second pass toward the shore. There are several tight knots and I grip the highest one with two trembling hands. I back up the hill until the rope is taut, and with my heart beating fast, I hold on tight.
And I fly.