She's not sure what has awoken her— whether it's the sticky hot air, or the sound of summer bugs from their open window, or perhaps just the end of some dream or other. The heat though is near oppressive as she lets reality come sharper into focus, and for the first time in her life she finds that it's not something she minds. The sheen of sweat covering her, causing her to stick to the sheets and to what parts of Jack she's still touching is nothing more than something to notice, rather than the annoyance it once would have been.
It's not yet morning, and they had fallen asleep tangled together again as they do most nights, unable to resist the connection they find in one another's arms. Jack is still sleeping soundly next to her, his hair covering his forehead, expression peaceful. Her leg is slung over both of his, their calves having sought the cooler air outside of their sheets, not that it made much difference. The sheets had drifted to their waists anyway, covering little, and shrugged off in an effort to find relief from the temperature she's sure, but the way that her arm rests over his chest, his own hand having drifted up to rest over hers by his shoulder lets her know that even in his sleep her proximity means more to Jack than his own comfort, as he has proven time and time again. She wonders if sleeping nude like this will ever be something she'll get used to. Even after the couple of months its been the sheets still feel foreign against her skin and the notion that its just them wherever they are is new for her— no ladies maid to stir her awake.
She thinks of where they are, and it's a far cry from where she ever thought she would be. The contrast of Santa Monica— the sound of crickets in the night and gulls in the morning— the distant rush of the ocean waves. It all makes summer brighter than any she has ever had and Jack's presence makes it all the more sweet, his smile often drifting onto his face like clouds parting to let that sun shine down upon her. Sometimes, when she's alone with her thoughts like this they drift to what could have been— what would have been if she had never met Jack. If she had never, in that moment of weakness, made her way to the bow that night to end it, or to the stern to begin again. She imagines the heat in Philadelphia or Pittsburg in August. The itchy sting of her corsets and petticoats over perspiring skin, the beads of sweat running down her back beneath the boning and lace while Cal stands by equally uncomfortable and not at all hesitant about voicing his disdain for anything and everything. She thinks of a life of stuffy parlor rooms and factory smog in contrast to the open windows and open spaces she gets now.
She thinks that with the way things have played out, she'll take this heat with Jack any day. She likes it, even. After all, hadn't they already endured enough cold in their lives? She had bourn Cal's frigid nature— callous, calculating and controlling. Jack had long been the recipient of life's cold realities: death of his family, death of his friends, a world that turns a blind eye to those less fortunate, going hungry while doing all they can to turn the tide their situation. And they had both frozen on that night, both near ready to give up until they were plucked from the icy waters by a beacon of light.
As if attuned to her wakefulness she feels Jack stir beneath her, and his hand over hers traces delicate circles on her skin.
"Too hot to sleep?" He asks her, his voice gravelly in his tired state. She shakes her head.
"No," she tells him, dropping a kiss to his chest. "Just enjoying the stillness."
She can feel him smile against her forehead, the stubble on his chin scratching the slightest bit as he kisses her there, and with the even pace of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and the steady rise and fall of his breath she can tell that he has drifted again and she will as well, letting her thoughts drift through the window on the breeze.