had decided to stay hidden for a while, and that was fifteen minutes earlier. Now Hudson had been lying next to her for long enough to forget the danger and briefly hope that his life could continue simply the way it was. That tomorrow would be a day just like today, with the garage and Leila. Dinner with his dad in their backyard, nothing urgent to say to each other. He wished that could be every day.
Thinking about his dad stirred in Hudson a deep pang of shame and regret that heâd snuck out of the house, been deceptive. Then Leila squeezed his hand, and all his reservations disappeared.
Grass and leaves damp from the humidity clung to his arms. A barn owl screeched somewhere on the island. She looked up at him. âIâm sorry,â she said. âI didnât mean to keep you out this late. I think Iâm good to swim back across now. Letâs get you home.â
âNo,â he said. âThereâs nowhere else Iâd rather be.â He put his arm on her back, his fingers coming to rest at the base of her neck, massaging gently.
She smiled and shuffled closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. âYouâre not worried about the interview?â
âNo. Iâll make it on time. Right now I just want to stay here with you.â
Leila curled up against him, her head on his chest, one leg over his lap. When he put his arm around her and they settled into each other, the comfort was so overwhelming that he thought he might fall asleep on the spot. He kept his eyes on the stars until they brought to mind the Northern Lights, at which point he looked down at Leila.
Heâd never really done this before, just being close to someone. But this was something people never had to learn, never had to study for. Or, no, that wasnât quite right. This was like fixing an engine. All you needed was to find the right parts and put them together, watch them click into place.
He ran his arm up and down her back, slipping his hand beneath her shirt, exploring her skin with his fingers. It was more as if her skin were leading his fingers around, as if he had no option but to trace the lines of her shoulder blades, to follow the lace of her bra down the strap toward the clasp. His hand lingered there for a second, then, beckoned by her skin, it moved to the open expanse of her lower back, the faint dimples there, the soft curve of her hip. He rested his hand right there, the tip of his fingers at the edge of her shorts.
How long this went on for, Hudson couldnât tell. He pictured his cell phone in Leilaâs car, imagined his father calling over and over. But having Leila there instantly quelled his anxieties. Sheâd run her fingers through the hair by his temples, massaging his scalp. Or sheâd shift her leg, and heâd feel the warmth of each otherâs skin go to new, fresh places. As long as she was there and not driving north and away from him, he was happy.
âTell me a story,â she said, the words spoken right into his chest, so he could feel her lips pulling away from and sticking a little to his skin.
âWhat kind of story?â
âI donât know. Anything. A bedtime story.â
He was about to say that he didnât know any stories, but instead he said simply what he was feeling. âThis is the greatest night of my life, I think.â He paused and let the Mississippi air fill in the background noise as he gathered his thoughts. âUp until now my greatest moment was last year, when this old car my dad and I were restoring finally started. Or the time when I was five, at the park. I donât remember much from the memory except for the fact that I had fallen and was in pain. Then, out of nowhere, my dad came in and picked me up, almost as if I were weightless. I remember how happy and relieved I was.
âBut this
,
â he said, emphasizing by pressing Leila closer to him, if such a thing was possible. He could
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