17
Sam
“I really think I should go home,” Sam said, because it sounded like the sane thing to say. It came out breathless, and she knew she didn’t sound like she meant it. She felt drunk from kissing Wyatt for so long. Just being able to run her hands along his arms and feel his breath on her neck made her wonder if she’d ever have the strength to climb back down the rope ladder.
“Don’t,” he said, kissing her again. “Or do, I don’t know. I just want you to want to come back.”
Sam laughed. “I’ll come back.”
When she finally went home, she couldn’t sleep. She wanted to text him, but she couldn’t imagine what she would say after all that.
She took out her sketch pad and started drawing. There was an image of Wyatt in her mind from earlier that night, sitting on the edge of the treehouse playing the guitar. It was a song she hadn’t heard before, and she’d followed it through the dunes and to the rope ladder. She’d wondered if she should turn back and leave him alone with his song, but she’d wanted to see him. When she was on the third rung of the rope ladder, he looked up at her but continued to play. It was a split second when he was fully immersed in his music and smiling at her at the same time. It was like he’d let her all the way in.