A rare late July breeze offers them a chance to intertwine, space between them almost non existent. Back pressed against his chest, his left arm is wrapped around her body, the fingers skimming down the length of her arm. She doesn't know where he begins and she ends.
Waves that break upon striking the wood of their boat lull her to serenity. She's memorizing his touch, trying to describe it as if he won't touch her again in the morning. She has his morning caresses, her favorite, described as finding your way home. The way his knuckles caress her cheek and his lips find the space between her eyes to coax her awake, his voice low and sweet. It makes her feel safe, like there's something between them no one can touch.
"How much do you love me?" He breaks the silence with a simple question just as she decides this touch is happiness. His voice is neutral and his fingers continue to skim her arm.
She's come to understand that he craves reassurance. She doesn't mind giving it to him. 'I love you', she thinks, is an umbrella term. There are a thousand ways to tell him she loves him without actually saying three words.
She decides tell him: "I love you more than I could've ever thought possible," in the morning when he awakens her with his soft caresses. For now, she keeps her eyes shut. "From here," she says.
His fingers come to a halt on her wrist and she can feel his eyes looking down on the top of her head. "What does that even mean, Jo?" His voice stays calm, his body betrays him by tensing.
She doesn't want it to end. Oh, how she despises the idea of no longer feeling safe or happiness. To her, though, it's unrealistic to believe forever is a real notion of time. It difficult, being the logical one in a relationship. She knows things will come crashing down around them. She just doesn't know when.
"I love you from here." She keeps her eyes shut.
He sits up, her body moving along with his until he untangles their limbs and retreats down to the cabin wordlessly.
January 20022 P.M.
"Joey made two dates for the same night," Audrey informs him.
He pushes himself up off of her bed. "How Marcia Brady of you, Jo!" He looks back to Audrey and his eyebrows raise. "So tell me, who're the lucky contestants?"
"Well, behind door number one, we have nice guy-" Audrey smirks before being interrupted.
"His name is Elliot for God's sake!" She throws her hands up, eyes going wide.
"A sweet young lad who is quite smitten with our Joey. Cute, funny, wears sweater vests, which is the only strike against him thus far," Audrey grimaces and folds her arms against her chest.
He sucks in a deep breath and scrunches his nose so much so that it bares his teeth. "That's bad, so who's behind door number two?"
"Can we not do this?" She waves her right arm around.
"Ah, yes, the professor! The forbidden fruit, if you will."
His eyes widen, lower lip between his teeth for a second before he wears a grin. She knows this grin. It's the same one that used to make her stomach flop.
10 P.M.
She's walking side by side with the contestant behind door number two.
"I seem to recall a certain story about a certain boy. What happened there?" Wilder questions, averting the topic away from his own failed romance.
She lets out an airy laugh, keeping her eyes on the pitch black water beneath them as she peers over the railing. "Nothing, he met someone else. Or re-met her, as the case may be."
They sit on a nearby bench, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off one another. "But anyway, it's over. We're over. What can you do?"
"Start dating, I guess?" Wilder suggests.
"I guess," she laughs, "I mean, I'm trying to but…"
"But what?"
"It's just hard. It takes all this energy and effort and you no way of knowing if it's going to be worth it at the end of the day."
"No, you don't."
"So what's the point?"
"There's no point. You should probably quit. Join a convent. You'd look good in a habit."
She gives her professor the face splitting smile she's tucked away. The one he always claimed as his. "Thank you. You know, you think I'm kidding, but that's a very appealing notion."
"Come on. And give up all those first crush butterflies? Never." Wilder shakes his head.
"Yeah, but that's just it. I mean, the butterflies never seem to accompany the right people, you know? The nice guys who are right for you, they never make your stomach go flip-flop."
Wilder's finger extends, he thinks about touching her but he restrains. "So who makes your stomach go flip-flop, Joey Potter?"
She pauses and gives off a wry half smile. "People who shouldn't?"
"Well, that hardly seems fair."
"Nope. Not fair at all."
It's silent between the two of them as the seconds tick away and turn into minutes. She doesn't recall the last time her heart thumped against her chest so hard like it might explode. It's been so long since I've felt so alive, she thinks. They're facing each other now and she finds herself leaning in and her forbidden fruit does the same. She counts to ten in her mind. Their lips meet in tender newness for no more than three seconds. She pulls apart from Wilder in shock and tumbles over her words as she announces she better get going before Audrey goes berserk.
She pushes the door to her dorm. Her roommate is nowhere to be found, but her eyes fall across his corduroy jacket splayed out on her bed. She fishes through her purse for her phone and maneuvers her way around the keyboard until the screen reads:
RECIPIENT: Pacey WitterTEXT: You left your jacket in my dorm, I'll drop it off tomorrow. Night.
A hand comes up to her mouth as she lets her fingers skim her lips. She can still feel Wilder's lips pressed against hers. A small smile of remembrance forms across her face. There was a time he gave her these feelings. It all seems like a distant memory now. So this is it? Her body doesn't burn any more from missing the intimacy they once shared. His once memorized morning touch is a hazy recollection and she can't remember how many freckles are on his back. She thinks of the term 'fell out of love' and knows that not what this is. It's acceptance. It's supposed to be more heart shattering than this, isn't it?
Her thumb hovers over the send button. Instead, she erases it and fiddles with the keys again. This time she presses send.
RECIPIENT: Pacey WitterTEXT: To here.
In the afternoon after her last class, she'll swing by Civilization to drop his jacket off to him and he'll ask her what her text meant. He still doesn't get it, she'll think. There will be a glimmer in his eyes that makes her stomach lurch. She'll suddenly be able to recall the way his lips felt against the skin between her eyes and the fifty-three freckles on his back.
Forget it, she'll tell him. Just a message sent too soon.