The Reunion by Kayla Olson(40)
“Tell me about these?” he says quietly, tracing a finger over one of the four friendship bracelets loosely knotted at my wrist. His skin brushing against mine sends shivers up my arm.
“I’ve received hundreds over the years, but these are the only ones I kept,” I say, finding my voice. “That summer-camp episode we did started it—you know, the one with the shy girl and the canoe?” And the clique of mean girls that left her stranded out in the middle of a lake, I don’t have to add: my character made her a friendship bracelet at the end of that episode, and I’ve been receiving them in my fan mail ever since.
His finger moves on to one of the thicker ones, diagonal rows of cornflower blue and seafoam green. My pulse picks up beneath his touch.
“So why these in particular?”
I think back on the letters I received, so many notes sent by so many people over the years, and not just girls: This show literally saved my life, more than a few of them read. It sounds stupid, but GotV was the only thing that got me through the year after my mother’s death, another said. Letters like those stood out in the sea of autograph requests and endless handwritten notes boasting I’m like THE biggest fan, no seriously, for REAL, I love you, Livvvvv!
“These… they’re the ones that remind me to be grateful, even for the harder days.” They’re why I feel such love for the fandom despite my hatred of the paparazzi. No one’s ever asked me about my bracelets—most of the time, they live on my nightstand, not on my wrist. “These are the ones that remind me that what we do is bigger than a show for some people.”
I watch my words sink in, take root in his mind. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he says, “I think you and I receive two very different types of fan mail.”
“I can only imagine.” I shudder to think what he’s been blindsided by, if the images people tweet at him are any indication—I’ve gotten my fair share of those, too. Fortunately, for me, those have been few and far between.
We settle into a mutual silence, watching as the sun slips behind the glittering sea on the horizon. Shades of deep purple blend to pink and orange and gold, chasing the rays as they shift in the sky. My skin feels electric under the heat of his touch, where he’s still lightly tracing the bracelets at my wrist. It’s a moment of perfect clarity: I want this. I want him.
I’m not sure I ever truly stopped.
The breeze picks up, cooler now that the darkness is creeping in. I hug my knees to my chest and wrap my bulky cardigan over my bare skin. Without a word, Ransom closes the gap between us and puts his arm around me, pulling me in tight. The hand that had been tracing lines on my wrist finds its way to my hip, thumb hooked into a belt loop, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Better?” His voice is quiet, his breath hot in my hair.
“Much,” I reply.
And then the sun is gone, and the stars come out, and the next thing I know, we’re not looking at the sky at all but at each other. I turn my face up to his, ready to close the gap—but a sudden gust of wind has other plans, tearing his ball cap away and carrying it down the beach. I stand on instinct, rushing to retrieve it.
Ransom follows me, both of us barefoot; I just manage to snag his hat before a retreating wave pulls it out to sea. My toes sink into the sand, soft and silky under the cold water. He catches up with me, wraps his arms around me from behind, both of us laughing—he’s solid and warm and strong, a nice contrast to the sea. I turn to face him, and we’re close, so close I smell the sweet scent of mango on his lips.
“It’s a little wet,” I say, an understatement, as I hold up his dripping hat.
He smiles, bright in the darkness—and in one swift motion, he takes his hat and places it backward on my head. I shriek, laughing, which makes him laugh, too. I don’t even care that it’s cold and wet, don’t care about the wind whipping through my hair even though it’s freezing.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but it just looks so right on you.” He laughs, absolutely and obviously not one bit sorry. He’s got a playful gleam in his eye, and it can only mean one thing.
“Ransom Joel, don’t you dare—” I start, but it’s futile. He dips his hand in the water and splashes me before I even have a chance to turn away. “Oh, it is on now!”
I dip his hat in the water, scooping up as much of the sea as possible before attempting to dump it on him—but the wind has other ideas, and blows all the water right back onto me.
“Wouldn’t try that again, Latimer!” He laughs, darting away as I scoop up another hatful. “Even nature’s on my side!”
I try to slip around him, but a wave catches me off-balance, and next thing I know I’m up to my neck in ocean. I don’t even care, though, because I’ve managed to pull him down with me.
We’re both shaking with laughter, especially when Ransom pulls seaweed from my hair—I’m mortified, and he’s laughing so hard now he’s practically crying. I splash him good this time, right before another wave completely obliterates me.
I’m soaked to the bone and starting to shiver. “Let’s get you inside,” he says, pulling me close as we make our way out of the water. It won’t be long before the temperature drops a degree or twenty. A change of clothes and a fluffy blanket sound very appealing right now.
He grabs the wine, the plates, and what’s left of our charcuterie board; I shake out the beach blanket and carry it, along with the wineglasses, back up to my patio door. Luckily, he’s got a change of clothes in the car—I’m not at all surprised he’s prepared for the gym on a moment’s notice. I take a lightning-fast shower and slip into my favorite yellow Lululemons and a soft gray racerback tank.