In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(98)

I drop my forehead to his collarbone and he cards his fingers through my hair. “We don’t have to,” he says quietly after a second of me rubbing my knuckles against my eyes. He brushes a kiss across my forehead. “If you’re tired.”

“No, I want to.” He’s been so excited. Another yawn twists through my body and I shiver into him. “But I’m wearing your sweatshirt.”

He hums. “That’s fine, honey.”

I’m clumsy as I dress myself, mismatched socks and an old pair of sweatpants, one of Beckett’s sweatshirts dwarfing my frame as I tug it over my head. I push the hood out of my face and catch him staring, leaning up against the door.

“What?” I push my hair out of my face. He’s looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he’ll ever want.

I know the feeling.

“Nothing.” He holds out his hand and tilts his head towards the door. “C’mere.”

“C’mere, what?” I laugh, but my hand is already in his.

I’m reminded of another night, the both of us under the same stars. Together we slip down the dark hallway and through the front door, our boots quiet against the wet grass. It’s a clear night, the stars so bright it’s like I can reach out and touch them—a collection of diamonds in a sea of black. I tip my face up towards the night sky and watch as we walk, waiting for a flare of light.

Beckett’s hand cups my cheek and he guides my face down until I’m looking at him instead of the stars. He shakes his head once. “Not yet.”

I frown at him. “Aren’t we supposed to be watching a meteor shower?”

His thumb rubs behind my ear as he tugs me forward, beckoning me to walk some more. I make a disgruntled sound under my breath and he does his best to hide his smile. “Not yet.”

“I can see the sky just fine right here.”

“Not much further.”

I know where we’re going as soon as we crest the second hill, the path to this stretch of field a well worn route in my mind. We haven’t gone a week since I moved in without visiting. Picnic lunches and late-night drinks on a threadbare blanket. Bare skin in the moonlight, Beckett’s mouth hot against mine.

I shiver again and Beckett gives me a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow jumping up in interest.

“Eyes on the road,” I tell him and he snickers in front of me, fingers threading through mine. We walk and walk and walk until finally we get to the clearing with the two giant trees, their branches curved up and out like they’re welcoming the sky into their massive, swaying arms.

Beckett tugs me forward and places me in front of him. He curls both arms over my shoulders and rests his palm flat over my heart.

“Watch,” he instructs, and we tilt our heads back together, eyes fixed on the stars.

The sky remains still as we stand there together, the rustle of the trees and our gentle breathing the only sounds in the night. I feel like my eyes are as wide as they can possibly get, unwilling to miss a single thing. Beckett’s hand squeezes at my wrist, the other dipping into the collar of his sweatshirt to press against warm skin.

“Watch,” he says again, a whisper. I feel his smile against my ear and just like that—magic.

I see something streak across the sky, so quick I almost miss it. A burst of light and a bright flare of gold followed by green, like a spark catching into flame. My breath hitches and Beckett’s grip on me tightens.

I watch as another appears. And then another. Another—a cascade of light dancing across the sky above us.

“Ask me,” Beckett says suddenly, his voice low in my ear.

I tip my head back until I can see his face, a backdrop of a billion stars haloed behind his head. Another meteor flares in the night sky above him and I make my wish on that one, exactly like this, wrapped up in Beckett with my hands clinging tight.

I look at him looking at me, out here in the field where he kissed me like it was the very first time. I shake my head, my hair catching and pulling against his shirt. “I don’t need to.”

Because I feel it every time he brings me a mug of tea on the porch, or slips a thick pair of his socks over my cold feet. In every handwritten note and pot of coffee and touch against my bare skin in the stillness of night. In the drives we take down the dirt road that leads to the farm, all the windows down and my hair in the wind. In every familiar face we pass on the way into town, a call of my name and a happy wave, Beckett’s hand warm and comforting in mine.

In the tiny tattoo of a lime on the inside of my forearm—the very same place he licked a line of salt from my skin the first night we met. A birthday present that made him laugh so hard he fell out of his chair.

In the tattoo of some poorly drawn tulips, just above his heart.

I don’t ask, because I don’t need to.

He found his happy in me.

Like I found mine in him.

In us.

In this.



THE END