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TWENTY-FIVE

TALIA

I’m more nervous now than I was during our first date as teenagers. I’d take those anxious jitters and awkward touches over this stomach-rolling anticipation any day. The power to put a stop to this is solely in my hands, and maybe I’m a masochist, because I’m currently tying the strings of my yellow bikini before slipping into a pair of denim cutoffs and a white tank, before joining Tate by the truck.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess where we’re headed, and he doesn’t need to direct me as we drive toward the very outskirts of town.

There are several waterfalls in the area. Most are tourist hot spots, and on scorching summer days like today, they’ll be jam-packed.

Hidden away by thick undergrowth and towering oak-hickory, away from the trails and only known by those native to Iris Meadows, is Swift Falls. Parker brought us here the first summer we moved, and ever since, it became my and Tate’s tradition to drive out here with a picnic, swim a little, and nap in the sun.

After Tate’s doctor’s appointment, I think we both need a break to help replenish our energy. We were running on fumes by this point, draining ourselves emotionally, and we’d barely scratched the surface.

The nostalgia is bittersweet as Tate holds back a branch for me and we veer off the dirt path. My cheeks are warm from the sun and short hike—nothing to do with my shirtless husband as he swipes a hand down his torso, gleaming with sweat.

Nothing at all.

Not a single bodily reaction.

We go up a slight incline, and then, as if we’re about to step off the face of the earth, glittering water crests the top of the hill. The rushing sound of the waterfall brings back so many memories. Songbirds chirp a melody in the treetops, while a pair of dragonflies zip through the sky, their iridescent wings shimmering under the sun. It’s tranquil bliss.

No cell service. No laptops. No fans.

“Looks like we’re the only ones here.” Tate removes his backpack and takes out our towels, spreading them on a smooth rock overhanging the pool of water before kicking off his sneakers.

I can’t work out if us being alone together is an omen or blessing. “It’s why I like it.”

He watches me over the top of his sunglasses. “Did you come out here last summer?”

Last year was the first time we broke tradition.

“No.” I fiddle with the frayed hem of my shorts. “I didn’t get the chance.” Nor did I want to come alone or with anyone else. This was our spot.

“It’s good to be back.” His smile is sad as he admires our surroundings. Is he sad I didn’t come? Sad he missed out?

Then the melancholy evaporates, and he drops his shorts, revealing his tight ass.

“Tate!” I cover my eyes like a big old prude.

His laugh is roguish. Then there’s a splash of water, and I peek through my fingers in time to see him break the surface with a hoot, shaking his hair out like a dog.

“Ain’t nothing you haven’t seen before.” He winks.

“That doesn’t mean—You shouldn’t…” I fumble over my words.

He raises a brow. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Shut up,” I mutter as I remove my clothes and shoes. “I’m keeping my bathing suit on. So don’t get any ideas.”

“Fuck,” he rumbles from the water. “Too late. I’m having ideas.”

When I turn to face him, all humor has melted from his face. His gaze drags a dangerous path across my body, my exposed skin flushing when he lingers on my breasts. My nipples pucker when he licks his lips appreciatively.

Do I push my chest out a little? Yes. But they’re my best assets, and honestly, it’s empowering to witness his untamed reaction, even if it comes with giant red-flashing warning signs.

I tiptoe over the smooth rocks, careful of the patches of moss as I make my way toward the edge of the pool.

“You’re not gonna cannonball in like you used to?” Tate smirks.