Echo Soul Seekers

meaning, as he says, “Daire—I love you.” His lids narrowing, jaw tensing, as he studies my face, waits for me to respond.
    Those same features softening in relief when I say, “And I love you.” Surprised by the way the words just rolled off my tongue. It was so much easier than I imagined. The big, sturdy wall I’ve spent a lifetime building, in an effort to shield myself from moments like this, came crashing down with one little push.
    Though it’s only a second later when my heart fills with panic—feeling vulnerable, exposed. Unused to baring itself after a lifetime spent frozen in ice, placed under quarantine, and neatly tucked away in a corner no one could reach.
    If I know one thing for sure, it’s that nothing lasts forever. Relationships end, good-byes must be said, and that’s the part I’ve never been any good at. It’s always been easier just to skip out of town, board the next flight, and never look back.
    I take a deep breath. Fight to steady myself. Forced to acknowledge that the words have been spoken, the walls have crumbled, and there’s no way to reverse it—no way to return to that safe, lonely place I called home.
    But when I meet his gaze once again, seeing the way it brims with reverence and love, my heart swells until the panic’s edged out. Replaced by the pure joyful giddiness of breaking free of my cage.
    I say the words again.
    And then again.
    And then a few more times after that.
    My lips moving along the edge of his jaw, slipping down to the hollow of his neck, where I seal the words in his flesh.
    Each declaration leaving me increasingly strengthened. Finally understanding what they mean when they say that love heals—empowers—that love conquers all.
    I shift until I’m sitting astride him. Running my palms up a chest slick as silk, I cup my hands to his shoulders. My gaze deepening, my intentions laid bare. The declaration was just the beginning—the act will now follow.
    “Are you sure?” he asks, reading the look on my face.
    I nod. I’ve never felt surer. Of anything. Ever.
    He runs a finger down my cheek, his touch tender and sweet, as he moves to kiss me again. His lips falling lightly upon mine, when something odd and slick skims past my shin and plops to the surface beside me.
    I gasp. Already bolting from the spring, scolding myself that I should’ve known better—that it was too good to be true—when Dace stops me and pulls me back to his lap. Displaying the object now cupped in his hand—an overripe bloom that must’ve fallen from the canopy of vines overhead.
    He smiles softly, lifts me out of the water, and deposits me on a soft patch of grass where he lies down beside me. Studying me with a look so conflicted—so full of longing, wonder, and nervous anticipation—I can’t help but draw him to me, eager to assure him that this is exactly where we’re both meant to be.
    His lips find mine, but just as the kiss grows deeper, more heated, he pulls away, saying, “I hope you don’t think this is weird, but—I’ve only done this one other time.”
    “Anyone I know?” I avert my gaze, biting back a small stab of jealousy.
    Please don’t let it be Lita. Or Jacy. Or Crickett. Or Xotichl. Or anyone else I’ve befriended …
    “No,” he murmurs, gaze far away. “No one I know anymore.”
    I weave my fingers into the soft silken strands of his long, glossy hair, trying to temper my relief. I say, “Well, that’s still one more time than me.” My eyes meet his, fielding his curious look when I add, “Despite what you may have heard about my wild Hollywood past.” I know what he’s thinking: That someone who’s lived the kind of life I have, who’s hooked up with someone as presumably hot as Vane Wick, must’ve been here at least once, and I’m quick to refute it. “Seriously, I never quite got to this point. Guess I was waiting for you.”
    He angles closer, not saying a word. His face clouded with emotion as he traces a finger along the strap of my buckskin pouch, circling the place where it rests just over my heart.
    Leaving me so dizzy with his touch, I can’t help but whisper, “Though I have seen enough movies to know this is how it starts…”
    My fingers inch lower, peeling his briefs from his hips, as he rids me of my underthings. Absorbed by the sheer glorious sight of him, I allow my hands to roam the curve of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his chest, the lean valley of his abdomen. My skin sliding deliciously