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Aparna pours herself a glass of water and sips the sight before her.
Shards of a midwinter moon drizzle across the vast expanse of water underneath. Impeded ever so slightly by the bay windows, they spill over the rugged expanse of Ethan’s chest. The ripple of his arm. One glorious thigh.
He’s beautiful. And strong, she thinks with a flutter in her core. And so calm he could almost be asleep. Almost oblivious of the chaos he courted only last week.
Almost. But then he stirs, a wandering hand searching the space beside him.
She leaves the empty glass on the counter before joining him. Looping his arm around herself, she lays her head on his chest. His other hand finds the duvet.
It’s quiet. Too quiet, but for the gentle whooshing of waves lapping at the shores. And the breeze. Sweet and brimming with the occasional gardenia. Or gandharaj as grandma called it back in India in what seemed a whole other decade.
Aparna isn’t sure if it’s middle school geography or sixteenth century anecdotes from a Ferdinand Magellan. (Or just champagne). But there’s a certain tranquility about the Pacific. Daunting in its vastness of course. But here in her sea view suite, the thrum of Ethan’s heart pressed to her ears, she settles for just tranquil.
It is certainly calmer than the Atlantic from two winters ago. Either that, or everything Ethan had claimed and renounced that evening had muddled her senses. In her mind, Miami is exquisite. Ethereal almost. Even life altering. But almost too surreal to be true.
And yet two years later he is engraving circles on the expanse of her arm, her bare shoulder, her back. At a friend’s wedding, too. Snipping away, little by little, at the millenary drill of his life before her.
As for the rest, Ethan never says. Never in so many words. And she never asks.
But it’s enough.
She half wishes they could linger. Hold on to her little fistful of warm sand. There’s more to Hawaii than the whiff of gardenia. Or rows of coconut palms. Or the plumeria blossom Ines tucked behind Aparna’s left ear.
There’s all of that with Ethan Ramsey tossing his head with full throated laughter. Or mumbling sweet nothings into her hair as sleep overtakes her.
And it’s enough.
Until-
-Apu...
Somewhere above her, he sounds awake as she strains to open her eyes.
She has an arm around his middle. It’s warm. The bed. Or is it him. So warm. Her breathing softens against his chest.
-I've never felt this way about anyone.
Seconds trickle. It’s the sweetness of macadamia and their own scents. It hangs about them in a glorious mist.
He really is talking.
-And I don’t know, he says. I don't know if I ever will again.
Her eyes snap open.
There’s no meteor shower in the skies, or the sudden gust of wind in her hair. This is it. Ethan Ramsey is leaping with her. And all she feels is peace. An overwhelming sort of it. The sort that lulls you into sweet, sweet sleep.
Does he tense under her?
For a second, and then he chuckles, the deep rumble tugging at something inside her.
-And as always, he surmises, my timing is perfect.
She can talk now. She must.
And so she doesn’t.
-But... it’s probably for the best, he concludes. Kisses her goodnight.
She smiles and holds on to her little fistful of warm sand.
***
The boarding queue is at the gates when she stumbles in, looking around wildly.
Five more seconds and I would've boarded already.
Her smile is radiant as her eyes find him and she tells him he’s all talk.
Cheeky little minx.
And in a blur of time and shapes, she asks for his help. A case of misdiagnosis. They’d most definitely miss the flight.
He asks no more as he follows her out of the airport.
Not again, he groans, suddenly awake as sunlight assails him from what he assumes is a window shade she left open on their flight.
His attempt to rise is thwarted, his arm stuck under a sleepy tumble of dark hair. And it’s the bay window in her suite, the one he had pressed her up against last night.
Her breath hitches for a moment and her fingers quiver for the slightest spell of a dream. Slowly, slower than the fall of her breath, he draws it and presses soft, lingering kisses on her knuckles. The softest of sighs escapes her and she releases his arm to curl up to him.
All at once he’s reminded of last night. And he feels… not regret. None of that. Sheepish perhaps.
-Morning, she grumbles from under half open eyes.
-Coffee? He kisses her hair, a little glad her eyes are closed.
He didn’t botch it. She’d fallen asleep.
-’time is it?
-Little after six.
She snorts. As though she isn’t the one that forgot to draw the blinds. But again, he barely manages to rise.
-Stay.
She did fall asleep, right?
Ethan reclines against the headboard and picks up his copy of Sea People: The Puzzle of Polynesia. The one he didn’t make much progress with, thanks to her. And thanks to her, he doesn’t make much progress even now.
And what if she were awake all along. She wouldn’t do that to him, would she.
He exhales long and hard.
Perhaps it was too little too late. Inadequate even.
Beside him, she laces her hand with his own larger one. Traces the veins with her fingers.
He’d be there if time is all she needs.
He cups her face in his hand as she looks up. Twists a stray lock around his finger.
Hell, he’d always be there for her.
She props herself on her elbows and plants moist, open mouthed kisses on his palm.
-I feel the same way about you, Ethan.
He gulps, delirious. Then she kisses the length of his arm. Presses her mouth against his chest. His collarbone. And it’s maddening.
He needs to ask her now. Stop her first.
And he shudders as she bites and sucks the column of his neck. Despite himself, he presses one rough palm against the expanse of her back. Draws her closer.
She takes his bottom lip between her teeth with an unfamiliar zeal, and he finds his voice at last.
-Why now? He asks bewildered. It’s been what, five hours?
Incredulity etches her face. She might have withdrawn if not for the persuasive hand on her back.
-Gee, I don’t know Ethan, she says. Took you two years. Your five hours really put that into perspective.
It’s his turn to be dumbfounded as the faintest of smiles adorns her face.
It’s his turn to trace her lips with his own, grateful that she doesn’t withdraw. She kisses him softly this time. Tender and unhurried. And he winds a languid hand in her hair just as a soft whimper escapes her.
-Are you all right?
This is raw. Unfamiliar.
-Better than all right, she murmurs. She nestles under his chin, averting her eyes.
-I’m glad. Forgive me, I’m not the best at putting feelings into-
-Shh. Don’t, she pleads, eyes glimmering with the thousand little hopes of his own. Just stay.
And he does. Cradling her in his arms, his chin on her head, as the first honeycreeper of the day warbles its song to the ocean.
Forgotten, Ethan’s book had slid out of his hand and opened with a soft thud on the wooden floor. A single plumeria blossom pressed between its pages flutters to land beside it.
This is unfamiliar. But not unsettling. Not anymore.
This is happiness too. Untrammelled and wild.