Chapter 3: The Lake's Edge Confession
The silence after is a living thing, wrapping around us in the front seat of his car. The windows have fogged over, turning the world outside into a blur of shadows and silver light. Harry's chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his heartbeat a steady drum against my ear. His fingers trail lazy patterns up and down my spine, each touch a brand.
"That was..." He trails off, searching for a word that doesn't exist.
"Yeah." I lift my head, meeting his eyes. They're soft in the dim light, the usual guarded sharpness gone. "It was."
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "I've been scared, Nikki. Scared of what this means. Scared of what you'd say if I told you the truth."
"The truth?"
He exhales, a shaky breath that stirs the hair at my temple. "That I've been in love with you since we were seventeen. That every time you looked at me with that fire in your eyes, I felt like I was drowning. That I've spent the last four years trying to convince myself I didn't need you, and failing every single time."
The words settle in my chest, heavy and warm. I cup his face, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I've been scared too. Scared of being seen. Scared of being replaceable. Scared of letting someone in and losing myself in the process."
"You're not replaceable." His voice is fierce, his hand coming up to cover mine. "You're the opposite of replaceable. You're the standard I've been measuring everyone against."
He kisses me then, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine with a languid ease that makes my toes curl. The kiss says everything his words can't. It's an apology and a promise, a beginning and an end.
"Come with me," he murmurs against my lips. "I have a blanket in the trunk."
I laugh, the sound muffled against his mouth. "Planning for a romantic evening, were you?"
"I was planning for you." He pulls back, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Hoped you'd let me take you somewhere quiet. Somewhere we could just... be."
I climb off his lap, the loss of him immediate and aching. We adjust our clothes—him zipping his jeans, me pulling my shirt back over my head—and he pushes open the car door, the night air rushing in, cool and pine-scented.
The gravel crunches under my bare feet as I step out. I'd kicked off my shoes somewhere in the back seat, and the stones are sharp against my soles. Harry circles around, a thick fleece blanket slung over his shoulder, and scoops me up without a word.
"What are you doing?" I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck.
"Carrying you. Don't want you cutting up your feet."
He walks down to the water's edge, his boots sure-footed on the uneven ground. He finds a flat stretch of grass, sheltered by a drooping willow, and lays the blanket out with a careful precision that makes me smile.
"Sit," he says, patting the space beside him.
I settle onto the blanket, the fleece soft beneath me. He joins me, close enough that our shoulders brush, and tilts his head back to look at the sky. I follow his gaze.
The stars are out, scattered across the black like diamonds on velvet. The moon is a thin crescent, its light just enough to silver the water. The air is still, the only sound the gentle lap of the lake and the distant hum of crickets.
"It's beautiful," I say.
"Not as beautiful as you."
I snort, elbowing him. "Cheesy."
"True." He turns to me, his eyes catching the starlight. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Nikki. I've known that since the first time you called me an arrogant prick in tenth grade."
I laugh, the sound bright in the darkness. "You were an arrogant prick."
"I know. But you saw through it. You saw me." He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "No one else ever bothered to look past the surface. You did."
We lie back on the blanket, the fleece soft against my bare arms. He props himself on an elbow, hovering over me, h