“So I like pine trees,” he finishes. “A lot.”
I curl my hand around his thumb and squeeze it.
“What about you? Where were you the happiest?”
I have to think about it for a while. “Well, there was this one trip to Disney World—”
“Did you have mouse ears? Please tell me you had those mouse ears with your name stitched on underneath.”
I poke him. “No.”
“I’m gonna picture you with the mouse ears anyway. Continue.”
I poke him harder. “So Gen was ten, I was seven, and Hattie was four. Gen was adorable. She has those perfect corkscrew curls, you know? Plus, she was always in charge of everything. And Hattie was…Hattie. So they were getting all of the attention, like always, but then my parents surprised me with this Disney Princess breakfast. Just for me. And Belle and Snow White and Cinderella were there, and Jasmine told me that my dress was pretty, and that I was pretty, and it was amazing. My parents…they knew. They knew I was the one who needed it.”
“This,” Josh says, “is my new favourite story.”
“Of course, the whole thing was supposed to be a secret. But the second I saw my sisters, I was like, ‘Princess Jasmine thinks I’m prettier than you!’ Which wasn’t even true, but it felt true. Mom wanted to kill me, and Hattie threw this massive tantrum that lasted the rest of the trip, but it was worth it. Best day ever.”
“You are prettier than your sisters. You’re way prettier than your sisters.”
“That is…the most romantic thing that you’ve ever said to me.”
He laughs again. “It’s true.”
An unseen bird warbles, and another unseen bird answers its call. “You know,” I say, “I can’t remember the last time I was in a place where I couldn’t hear any traffic.”
“Ah, you’re a nature girl at heart. You’ve just never been given the opportunity.”
“And you’re a nature boy?”
“Definitely. See, if you come with me to New England, we can learn how to do all of those outdoorsy things you read about in your books. Exploring, camping, rock-climbing, rafting, stargazing, building fires—”
“Building fires?” I smile.
“That’s right. Fires. Plural.”
The sun dips below the treeline, and suddenly, Josh is backlit by a stunning golden light. He looks perfect even when he’s damp and sweaty and dirty. I wiggle upward until I reach his lips. We kiss, heavily, until I can’t handle it any more.
“Let’s go,” I say. It comes out ragged.
Josh freezes.
And then he’s lunging for his hoodie and backpack, tripping over himself to get moving. I grab my things, and he takes my hand as we sprint onto the narrow path. We’re laughing, completely blissed out. We run down, down, down, and the further we go, the more crowded the park gets. We race through an area that looks like a cave – perfect for making out, complete with a classical Spanish guitarist – but making out is no longer enough. We pass Gaudí sculptures, Gaudí buildings, Gaudí’s famous lizard fountain, but they barely earn a glance as we whiz by. We only have eyes for each other.
We grab the first cab outside of the park. We’re breathless. Josh hands the driver our hotel’s address, and our tongues and limbs and hands are touching, searching, groping as the streets of Barcelona whiz past our windows. We pay our distressed cabbie way too much, mainly out of guilt, and tumble back out.
Josh kisses my neck as we check in. Our surroundings are a blur. The clerk, the stairs, the hallway. We slam our room door shut and toss our backpacks to the floor. We have the entire night, but we can’t wait another minute.
We kiss fiercely. Urgently. I throw off my coat as Josh scrambles out of his hoodie. I remove his T-shirt as we collapse onto the bed. His chest drums against mine. I roll over, climb on top of him, and find that he’s as ready as I am. He lifts my dress up and around my h*ps and then over my head. I pull back, breathless. “Do you have?”
“Backpack.”
I bend over backwards, stretching for his bag on the floor. I reach it and yank it closer. I find them in the front pouch. I grab one, and he helps me sit back up. He stares openly at my matching pale pink underwear. Josh has seen all of me, but never all at once.
I unhook my bra. He takes it off.
He kisses my br**sts, my stomach, the line above my underwear. And then the line below it as my last remaining clothing slides from my hips. I unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, and tug them down at the same time as his boxers. His breathing is shallow. Rapid. I lower myself onto him. We gasp. Our arms wrap around each other, and we move together, watching each other, checking in with each other with our eyes. Is this okay? What about this? This?