Page 78 of Found in Wild Sage

I gasp when I finally see.

There are millions of stars. Maybe billions. I couldn’t count them if I stayed here all night.

“It’s incredible.” I can’t tear my eyes away. “It’s like a totally different sky.”

“It is. I miss it when I’m not here. It’s good for my soul to be out here and just look.”

I reach for him. Our fingers weave together. His hand is warm in the cool night air.

We stargaze for a while, and my thundering heart relaxes minute by minute. Then he begins pointing out constellations. It’s the first time I’ve been able to see more than the Big and Little Dipper, and maybe Orion’s belt, and it’s kind of amazing.

“I always loved Orion’s belt. It’s so simple and specific.” Dec’s voice holds a tinge of amusement at himself. “Pretty basic.”

An absolute flood of adoration for him nearly crushes my ability to speak, but I manage. “I think you’re the least basic person I’ve ever met.”

His laugh comes breathy and low. “You’re too nice.”

We quiet, but my pulse is climbing again. His thumb sweeps back and forth over mine.

“So…” I lean up on an elbow, finally tearing my eyes from the stars to look at the man next to me.

He’s in shadow, but there’s enough light out here to see the planes of his face. He tilts my way, eyes fathomless in the dark meeting mine.

“I’m your favorite?”

The night air takes a breath. I don’t have time to wonder how long we’ll stay like this, suspended in a moment of so much anticipation, because he leans up and draws my face to his. In a second, his lips are on mine. One hot, firm press, and then he pulls back.

“Yes, Evie. You are.”

His gaze never leaves mine as he lays me down, then bends to kiss just above my collar bone. He’s lying next to me, propped on one elbow, his free hand at my waist. His lips kiss a trail up my neck, behind my ear. With a rough breath, he speaks again.

“You are everything.”

I urge him up, closer, so I can kiss him properly. And just like the well-mannered man he is, he does. Soon, we’re in a tangle of limbs, my leg slung over his hips, our bodies pressed close. His hands are on my back, sliding over my curves, and I take the same delicious liberty.

Every part of him is so hot and hard and perfect. And the thought that keeps screaming into my head is, This is happening.

Declan Ryan is kissing me because he wants to. Not to prepare for the wedding so we don’t look awkward in front of people when we kiss. Not because we need to sell our relationship.

And he’s not just kissing me. He’s consuming me. But there’s no rush or urgency I’m not inviting with my own sense of desperation. This drive to get closer, to be consumed by him, is the obvious byproduct of not only the endless crush I’ve had on him since I met him, but the reality we’ve made. And in that, the knowledge that I love this man.

There’s still so much to learn about him, but I love him. If my panicking, tearful chat with Mary earlier hadn’t spelled that out clearly enough for me, as well as my blubbering with Sam, this moment would.

My hands slide under his shirt and he groans when my palm presses to the hot flesh of his abs. This man is artwork, and I already knew it, but I’m very pleased to get my hands on him.

“You—we should maybe⁠—”

He’s talking between kisses, and I’m not sure I want to hear. For once, I want him so wild for me that he can’t think straight. He can’t even consider stopping or doing the logical, reasonable thing because he wants me too much.

And for a minute, it seems like we might be there. He’s whispering soft, lovely things about how perfect I am, how beautiful I am, how much he loves my hands on him.

Then we hear it and freeze. I couldn’t tell you what, but it’s enough to bring us back to the reality that his family is only a five-minute walk away. It feels like it’s just us and the wild sage and the stars.

He melts, pressing his forehead to my chest, his shoulders rising and falling. I giggle, because even though I very much want this man, I’m also more than a little pleased to see he’s struggling with the situation, too. It makes me giddy, frankly.

“We should probably go back.”

To the camper. To reality. Neither one is a hundred percent appealing, though I’m hopeful we’ve turned a corner here.