Chapters 7-9 Beautiful Mine

CHAPTER 7

Whitney

I realize I’m probably just another adventure for him. Maybe he’s only that for me, too. I’ll go home and get on with life and have a good story to tell.

That’s what I’m telling myself anyway, because I don’t want to lose my head about this. I need to be smart. I’m going to just enjoy it, for as long as it lasts.

And enjoying Connor is so easy to do.

We’re currently walking a beautiful, gently curving path, talking easily. He’s back to wearing his navy shirt, and using his walking stick, which I’ve learned is named Gandolf. Our conversation has flowed effortlessly from one topic to another. I’ve heard more about his travels, and his stories are so interesting that I have to be boring in comparison. Yet, he doesn’t make me feel boring. He continues to ask questions about me and listens and laughs and it’s all just so easy.

We’re only about five and a half miles from Santiago when we finally get to the medieval bridge I’d read about in my guidebook. It’s a “wee” thing, as Maggie would’ve said. An arched, stone footbridge that takes maybe twenty steps to cross, but it’s survived centuries, which gives it a neat atmosphere.

When Connor and I get to the top, I stop and look below. Maybe it used to cross a stream, or a creek, but the only thing beneath it now is tall grass and a few flowering bushes.

Connor crosses to the other side, then turns back and waits for me. When I reach him, he smiles and takes my hand. He leads us off the stone slab path and down into the grassy ravine. I grin at him. He has a go-with-the-flow, impulsive streak I find both invigorating and calming.

We go down the slope and to the arch of the bridge. He rests his stick against the side, then we slip underneath the arch. The bridge isn’t very wide, so it’s still sunlit under here, but we’re in the light shadow, running our free hands along the rough stone above us.

“Someone made these stones,” Connor says. “A long time ago, with their own hands.”

I try to imagine who those people might have been. What their lives were like. “Think of all the times and people this bridge has seen since then.” I glance at Connor’s profile, my heart skipping a bit.

“Pretty amazing.” He’s not feeling the stones anymore, but he’s still looking up at them.

“I wonder how many people have kissed under this bridge.” A shameless hint.

He grins and looks at me. “I don’t know.” He pulls me closer, making me tingle all over. My chest comes lightly against his and he wraps one arm around me, still holding on to my hand. “But this’ll be the only one that counts.”

He dips down and I raise up slightly to meet him. His kiss is soft and lingering, then slowly opens to more. When our tongues softly brush against each other, my core starts to simmer. I release his hand and we sink into a firm embrace. He kisses me slowly and masterfully, and when he pulls away I’m wishing we were still back at the hotel.

“We’ll never get there if we keep this up,” I say.

I’ve already told him how much I want to walk to Finisterre. It just seems like the perfect end to my Camino journey. But it was tempting, oh so tempting, to spend my remaining days rolling around with him in a Santiago hotel room instead.

“Then you’d better stop asking for kisses, greedy little miss.” He grins and places another kiss on my lips.

“All right, we’ll go. After the next one.”

The heat factor of this kiss is several notches above the last. Oh yeah, we need to get going, or I’m going to be too turned on to walk. I’ll throw him down under this bridge and have my way with him and his magnificent cock and not care at all how many pilgrims come by and watch me do it.

“Okay,” he says thickly, pulling away with heat in his eyes. He gently grabs me by the shoulders and turns me determinedly. “Back you go, missy, or we’ll be losing some serious time.”

I duck out from under the bridge obediently. He’s behind me, but hangs back a bit. When I glance over my shoulder I spy him subtly adjusting himself. I face forward again and grin, already feeling quite accomplished today.

We reach our day’s destination well into the evening and forgo the larger hostel option, wanting more privacy than that. There aren’t hotels in this town, so we go for a small, private hostel, which is basically a bed and breakfast. It’s a charming, restored stone house with a red terra cotta tile roof, sculpted rough iron door handles, and potted flowers lining the walkway.

As we’re checking in, Connor refuses to let me help pay.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I protest. “You don’t need to pay my way.”

“You could contribute some other way,” he says off-handedly as he determinedly leads me away from the check-in desk. The host is taking our packs and his walking stick to our room for us, but we’re heading out for dinner. We’re both starving, otherwise we’d be checking out the room and the bed first.

“Like buying dinner?” I suggest. We’ve been buying our individual meals thus far.

“Uh, no. How about this?” We go out the front door and onto the street. “I get the room and you agree to explore the city with me.”

“That’s the deal you want to make?” I think I’d be getting the better end of things there, but I’m already giving in. I see he has his mind made up.

“Well, I don’t know how you feel about more walking.”

“With you?” I give him a grin. “I’m game for anything.”

He smiles. “Good. It’s a deal.”

We duck into the first restaurant we find and finally get some dinner. We still pay separately, which I’m glad about. The hotel was one thing, I suppose, but this can’t start feeling like we’re dating, or it’s going to make things that much more difficult.

We’re just having fun. That’s what I keep chanting to myself. We’re having fun. That’s it. And it’s great and I should enjoy it.

After dinner, we start wandering. We leave the restaurant in the opposite direction than the one we came in. The first time we come to a small intersection, Connor stops and grins at it.

“Ah,” he says, his voice pulling slow and sweet like caramel. “A fork in the road.” He has a glint in his eye I haven’t seen before. “Which way shall we go, Whitney?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not one whit,” he says, like that’s the best thing about it. He looks at me expectantly. “You get to choose.”

Grinning at him, I point down the street to the left. “Good choice.” He squeezes my hand and turns in that direction with a little spring in his step.

“What if I’d picked the other one?” I ask, amused.

“That would’ve been an excellent choice, too.”

I laugh. He makes me feel light, without a care in the world. “Is this how you travel? You get to a crossroads and randomly pick a direction?”

“Pretty much. Some things I plan, but damn,” he says, getting that sweet pull in his voice again, “there’s nothing like a fork in the road.”

It’s not long before I see what he means. On my entire journey, up until I met Connor, I’ve pretty much been doing the pilgrim thing. I’ve seen a lot of things and met a lot of people. And it’s been incredible. But I’ve stayed in the hostels where the pilgrims stay and eaten in the restaurants the pilgrims frequent and have more or less stayed on the path.

But in this little town with Connor by my side? It’s one impromptu turn after another, and I like it. Still though, we’ve gone so far off the path, I have to ask, “Do you know how to get back to our room?”

“Sure.” He squeezes my hand. “Don’t you?”

“With all the turns we’ve taken? We could be going in circles for all I know. It doesn’t help the way the roads are laid out here.” Unlike the grid system I’m used to, these older towns have streets that go at strange angles willy nilly, their direction dictated by some long-forgotten need.

“I have a good sense of direction,” he says reassuringly.

“I guess you’d have to, or you’d get lost too often.”

“I didn’t say I don’t get lost. But being lost is a frame of mind anyway. What’s that saying? Wherever you go, there you are?”

“Wait. You do know how to get back, don’t you?”

He laughs. “Yes. But even when I get lost, if there’s somewhere specific I’m trying to go, I figure it out eventually. Okay…” He nods toward the junction we’re approaching. There’s that glint in his eye again. Every time.

I feel like I’m watching a wild animal in its natural habitat. I’m starting to see that whatever it is that drives Connor to wander, it’s stitched deep inside his soul. It makes me wonder. “You know, I hope I’m not keeping you from, you know, doing your thing.”

“Doing my thing?” He looks at me.

“Yeah. I mean, how many forks in the road have you passed by today because you were walking with me instead?”

“Ah,” he says, eyebrows lifting and coming to a stop. Grinning, he pulls me in close to him. “Well, it’s not like I’m completely incapable of staying on a path. I’ve spent the last several weeks walking the Camino, as planned.”

“That’s true,” I say, enjoying being in his arms. No matter the reason for it.

“Besides,” he leans in close. He has that glint in his eye I saw before. “You were the fork in the road.”

He cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine so slowly, I feel the spark before we actually touch. When we do touch, it lifts me up right off my feet. My face still in his hands, I wrap my arms around his waist and press myself softly against him.

He pauses, looks me in the eye, then kisses me again, this time bringing one hand into my hair and the other slowly down my side, one thumb running over my breast and edging close to my nipple.

We sink deeper into it, tongues gently swirling together. He takes a handful of hair at the base of my neck, gripping it gently and sending prickles of pleasure down my spine. I grip him tighter, press myself against him more firmly, and feel his hardness growing against me. Our kiss grows more heated and he cups my ass, squeezing hard.

I pull back, breathing hard. “Take me back,” I whisper.

He gently sucks on my bottom lip, making my knees go weak. “I don’t know the way,” he whispers.

“What?” I straighten and look at him in alarm.

He grins a devilish grin. “Just kidding.”

“Oh, you are going to pay for that one.”

He leads us back down the street, his arm firmly around my waist. “One can only hope.”

After we break open the new package of condoms he purchased earlier today, and manage not to make the old bed in our room squeak too much putting that condom to good use, Connor draws a warm bath and leads me to it.

I’m starting to feel a little raw from so much sex, but it feels good and I’m hoping we’re not done for the night. Judging by the way he looks at me as we settle into the tub, I don’t think we are.

I’m sitting between his legs, with my knees pulled up and my back toward him. Using a cup, he’s slowly pouring warm water over my hair, prepping it for a wash. Each time he pours the water, he gently runs his hand down my hair, from scalp to ends. It’s so gentle and tender and erotic. By the time he’s applied shampoo and is slowly massaging my scalp, my eyes are closed and I’m a helpless little puddle right there in the tub. The warm water is just covering my breasts. I’m wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and sensation.

“No one’s ever done this for me before,” I say, eyes still closed, arms wrapped around my knees.

“Really? Never?”

I shake my head lazily.

“Well I’m glad I get to be your first.” He plants a soft kiss on my shoulder.

I shudder and sigh. “We could do this all night.”

He brings his mouth close to my ear. “I have other plans for you tonight.”

I shudder again.

With hands covered in bubbles from my hair, he runs his hands over my shoulders and down my arms.

“Mmmmm.”

“Feel good?” He brings his hands back up my arms and over my shoulders to my back.

“Uh-huh.”

He caresses the length of my back, going under the water now. Still under the water, he curls around to my stomach before coming up and over my breasts.

I let out a slow exhalation. He slowly returns to my hair, gently rinsing the shampoo out. I drop my arms so I can put my hands on his calves. They’re soft and warm under the water, and I rub my hands up and down them as he rinses.

I rub his knees and up higher now to his inner thigh. He rinses and runs his hand down the length of my hair, setting the cup aside.

He wraps one arm in front of me, across my collar bone, and cups my shoulder gently. His lips are on my shoulder again. My hands rub his inner thigh and calves. His hardness bobs against my lower back. His other arm comes around my side and to my breast, as his lips move to my neck. I tilt my head to give him room. He sucks gently and my lips part in a sigh.

He gently pulls me back against his warm chest. The water curls around my breasts, my nipples popping above the water line and back down again. He runs his fingers down my chest and to my nipple, giving it a gentle pinch. Meanwhile, his other hand slides lower down my stomach, down to my mound.

I part my knees slightly, leaning my head back against his shoulder. His fingers gently separate my folds and the warm water rushes onto my clit. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers hotly in my ear as his fingers gently brush over my bud, the nerve endings sensitive from the orgasms I’ve already had tonight.

His hard cock is pinned against my back. Thinking about it inside me only gets me more aroused.

“I want you to fuck me,” I say, as he circles my bud, making me open more, pressing my thighs harder against his.

“I know you do.”

He pinches my nipple again, then squeezes me, all while gently brushing his lips along the sensitive skin on my neck.

“You will, right?” I ask weakly, angling my hips up slightly. His fingers curl down until they find my entrance and he presses two inside me. I let out a gasp.

“Oh, yes. But not till I’ve had my way with you here first.”

I move my hand higher up his thigh, wanting to reach behind me for him, but the angle prevents it. His hard shaft is digging into my lower back and I can only press against him more as I open as much as I can. He slides his fingers deep into me. My silky moisture is protected inside, making it easy for him.

I hook my arm around his neck, turning my head so we can kiss. His warm tongue slides over mine as his fingers slip out and return to my throbbing clit. He delves into me with his tongue, caressing my breasts and rubbing my clit in fast, tight, hard circles. I moan into his mouth, my tongue warring with his.

He continues on like this. Caressing and playing me, he knows just how to touch me so it’s the right amount of friction, making the most of the water.

Soon I’m gripping his knees, my head is thrown back on his shoulder, and I’m panting helplessly.

“That’a girl,” he whispers in my ear as the flush in my chest, climbs and climbs. The water is hitting the side of the tub in an agitated way as I buck my hips in small movements. He squeezes me and pinches my nipples, as the flat of his fingers strum perfectly over my clit.

I let out a whimpering cry, my desperation growing with the climbing pleasure. I cry out again.

“There you go,” he whispers behind me, the full length of his shaft digging into my back.

His fingers flying, I’m pressing hard against his thighs, needing so badly to open myself and yet feeling what the restraint is doing to me. It’s made the climb so slow, but so, so delicious.

“Connor,” I breathe, arching my back so my breasts come out of the water. The cool air rushes over my nipples.

“Yes,” he says tightly, his fingers moving faster, harder.

“Connor,” I bite out.

“Whitney.”

Oh, fuck.

My climax peaks, tearing me in two, stealing my breath. I whimper again and again, and Connor sucks on my neck, my earlobe, my shoulder and his fingers don’t slow.

My head flies forward and I tuck my chin hard against my chest as I ride it out. When I’m released and collapsing back against him, his hand cups my mound firmly and I pulse against the firm pressure of his fingers.

He lets me lie against him for a minute, head heavy on his shoulder and the sound of my panting filling the little room. His rod is rock hard against my back.

“My turn,” he whispers hotly in my ear, and I throb in anticipation.

We exit the tub and hastily dry off, just enough not to freeze. He throws his towel on the floor, then takes mine out of my hands and tosses it down too. When he takes me in a hot, hard kiss right there in the bathroom, there are still some droplets on our skin.

Now that I can reach it, I grab his cock greedily. I squeeze him in the center, again closer to the top, again cupping the tip. He moans in my mouth, grabbing my upper arms. I want to taste him, and am about to slide down so I can, but I don’t get a chance. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom.

I’m still flushed and throbbing from my orgasm, but I’m getting more wet at the thought of that cock inside me. He lays me on the bed, then goes for the box on the nightstand. As he rips the package and rolls it on, I lift one knee and lower my hand to my clit.

“Holy fuck,” he says, watching my fingers rub in circles. “Flip over.” He climbs onto the bed on his knees.

I do as he says and get on all fours, looking over my shoulder to watch him get into position. He grabs his shaft, and I feel it at my wet opening. He starts to come inside me and I drop my head in relief. It’s like I can’t get enough of this.

He slides in deeper, the different angle stretching me hard in completely new ways. I gasp and he freezes.

“Am I hurting you?”

I urgently shake my head no, scooting my hips back, asking for more. He slides the rest of the way in. I widen my knees slightly. He firmly grabs my hips and gets us going in a rhythm that makes my nerve endings hum all over. I’m rocking back to meet each thrust, wanting it deeper. Wanting it harder.

I bite my lip and glance over my shoulder. His chest and ab muscles are hard and defined. The view of his body down to his pelvis are such a turn on from this angle, I don’t want to stop looking. I’m bracing my arms hard against the mattress, trying to give as much resistance as I can to his movements.

“You like it hard?” he asks. I nod urgently.

Grabbing my hips more firmly, he yanks me back against him and thrusts into me so hard that I drop my head to the mattress and desperately grip the sheets in my hands. “Yes,” I choke out, but I don’t know if I said it loudly enough for him to hear. I can barely breathe. Every thrust causes a pulse of pleasure to radiate out from my center. His stiff cock is stretching me almost more than I can handle and hurts so good.

I exhale in hard, sharp gasps as he pounds a mind-splitting climax right out of me. I’m crying out, my open mouth pressed into the mattress, and arching back on him. As my orgasm rips through me, he comes, pulsing inside me. His groans and sporadic thrusts only make me come harder.

It lasts so long, I’m left gasping for air when it’s done. My blood is pounding in my ears and my heart is trying to break out of my chest. I sink heavily onto the mattress and he sinks heavily onto me, cock still wedged firmly inside.

“Oh my god,” I say, as he kisses my shoulder in between pants.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Not,” I protest, slowly catching my breath. The pulses in my body are morphing into a sweet, throbbing afterglow. “I’m good for at least ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

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Chapter 8

Connor

Sometimes insomnia bites hard, but having Whitney by my side makes it significantly better. She’s sleeping on her stomach, one leg pulled up, chin tucked down, hugging her pillow, breathing softly. She’s fucking gorgeous. We didn’t finally get to sleep until after midnight to start with—well, she fell asleep anyway—but, it’s after one now and, in spite of my physical exhaustion, I’m still wide awake.

For some reason, people assume I get insomnia when I’m worried about things. I wish that were the reason. At least then maybe I could do something about it. No. It seems my body has a mind of its own and just flat won’t sleep sometimes.

Tonight’s different, though. Aside from a whole lot of wondering about the woman lying next to me, my cousin Corrine is on my mind and, yeah, you could say I’m worrying about her. It’s only four in the afternoon in California, so I should wait a bit before calling her, but fuck it. I’m awake and I can’t wait any more.

I quietly climb out of bed, get dressed, and take my phone to the darkened main room. Not bothering to find a lamp, I use my phone’s light to guide me to a chair and hit Corrine’s number.

When she answers, she doesn’t even say hello. “No, I haven’t heard yet.”

“I wasn’t calling for that.”

“You’re full of crap.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I was just getting ready to call Dr. Nguyen’s office though. I want to get them before they close. Want me to call you back?”

“Okay.”

Trying to ignore my nerves, I check emails while I wait. It’s the usual sort of stuff: some business-related correspondence, an update from my broker, a sappy this-is-true-and-will-break-your-heart bullshit internet story my gullible grandmother forwarded to me, and a link from my mom. It’s an article about a graphic novel that illustrates Albert Einstein’s life, just the off-the-wall thing we both find interesting.

I’m half way through drafting a reply to an email when Corrine calls back. “The nurse was just getting ready to call me.” I already know the answer based on the tone of her voice. “Negative!”

Thank God.

“See?” I say, trying not to sound as relieved as I am. “I told you everything would be fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” I sigh and sink further into the chair, feeling distinctly more relaxed now. “So tell me what else is new.”

“Your mom gave me a new project. She wants me to update the operations manuals.”

“Shit. All of them?”

“Yeah. I’m really excited.”

“Better you than me.”

“Do you want me to read a few pages to you? It’ll help you sleep.”

“If you’re trying to bore me, just put Rayce on.” I grin.

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“So, where are you now? Did you make it to Santiago yet?”

“Yeah. A couple days ago.”

“Did you get to see the incense thing?”

“Yeah,” I say, remembering kissing Whitney during the second one, and everything after. “Yeah. It was pretty cool. I’ll send you a pic.”

“How long do you think you’ll stay? Do you know?”

Last time we talked, I mentioned that I’d planned on staying in the city awhile. It seemed like it’d be a good one to explore. After getting there I didn’t change my mind about that. It did seem like the kind of place I’d like to get to know better. But, you know, things change.

“Well, I’m actually heading for the coast now,” I answer. “I’m in Olveiroa.”

“Oh yeah? What made you decide not to stay in Santiago?”

“Oh,” I say vaguely, “you know.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I know. Those feet of yours have a mind of their own.”

We talk awhile longer before hanging up. I finish the email I’d started and send off another. That done, I sit in the dark a few minutes, trying to let my mind and body relax. My brain is still whirring though, so I give my brother Rayce a call.

“I heard you want me to put you to sleep,” he says, after our initial hellos.

I smile. “Word travels fast.”

“I could sing you a lullaby.”

“There aren’t enough miles between us for me to stomach your singing.”

“So where are you?”

That’s the standard question on just about any call with my family: where are you? I give him the latest, sans Whitney. Normally I’d tell him, but he’ll either make it out to be a meaningless hook up—which I don’t want him to think—or something serious. Which I also don’t want him to think.

I don’t know what to call this thing that’s happening with Whitney, so I’d rather stay mum.

Anyway, I called him for a reason. “How’s Corrine?”

“She seems to be doing okay.”

“She’s not getting too worn out?”

“No. If anything she’s looking better. I think it’s helping to get back into the swing of things. Mom was right.”

“She usually is. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Not long later, when I’m climbing back into bed, Whitney stirs slightly and barely opens her eyes at me before letting them slide shut again. “Did you go somewhere?” she asks sleepily.

“Just for a minute.” I kiss her on her cheek and settle into bed. My body finally seems tired enough, and I’m more than ready.

She heavily scoots over, curls her arm around my waist, and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her soft body, sink against the pillow, and am asleep seconds later.

We both sleep in a bit, and take a little longer getting ready than usual—what with the whole morning romp we couldn’t seem to resist, not that we tried very hard—but we manage to get on the road at a decent time anyway.

A couple hours in, we pass by an outdoor market and pick up some bread, cheese, salami, and grapes for lunch. Not long after, we find the perfect place to enjoy it: a grassy area with a view of the sprawling field just across the Camino from us.

We settle on the ground and lay our items on the brown bag we’ve been carrying it all in.

“It’s almost too pretty to eat,” Whitney says, admiring the braided Challah loaf, “but I’m sure we’ll manage it.”

I smile, pull out my pocket knife, and cut a slice of the salami. When I hold it out to her, she holds my eyes and smiles in that way that makes my breath catch. Good lord, she’s a beautiful woman.

She reaches for the salami, but I gently catch her wrist in my other hand and tug. Her smile widens, and she lets me pull her in. Our lips come together in a soft, sensual kiss. Only when I’ve had my fill do I release her. Her cheeks are softly flushed and the crotch of my shorts are a bit tighter than normal.

She takes the slice of salami with two fingers, puts it in her mouth, and licks the tip of each finger, watching me the entire time.

“She-devil,” I say grinning, and turning to the meat to slice the rest.

“You started it.”

“Keep that up and I’ll finish it.”

We’re too close to the road and potential spectators to be serious, though, and eventually settle into our meal.

“Were you up in the middle of the night?” She tears off a chunk of the bread. “Or did I dream that?”

“Yeah. Just for a bit.”

“Was I keeping you up?”

“No. Not at all.” I explain my occasional insomnia issues, telling her there’s no real reason for it apparently. “I just have trouble with my clock sometimes. Last night was different though. Corrine’s been fighting cancer and we were waiting on some test results.”

“I’m sorry.” She genuinely looks it. “Is she okay?”

“Everything came back negative, so that’s good.”

“Is she in remission then?”

I nod and fill her in on the details. Corrine was diagnosed half way through the first semester of her sophomore year of college (what would’ve been my junior year, had I not left that summer to travel the world instead). The prognosis wasn’t too bad that first time. She had to pull out of school, then went through six months of treatment before being declared cancer free.

That fall she went back to Hartman College, again starting her sophomore year. She finished that year and got in a full semester’s worth of credits her junior year, but in February of that school year, the cancer came back and she had to drop out again.

“Things were serious before,” I say, “but when it came back last year it was really bad. She ended up going to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale from February all the way until October.”

“Geez,” Whitney says softly. “That’s a long time.”

I nod. “Yeah. It was a long, long year. Things were kind of touch and go there for a while, until they found the treatment that worked.”

“Did you get to see her at all?”

“Oh yeah. Both times. The first time I still travelled all over, in between visiting her. She lost her hair, and I made a joke that I should’ve brought her a gaucho hat from Argentina—”

“What’s a gaucho hat?”

“Gauchos are South American cowboys, and they still wear traditional clothing.”

“Oh yeah. I think I’ve heard of them.”

“Right. Well, that’s where I’d been when she was diagnosed. So, you know.” I shrug, smiling. “I went back and got her one.”

“You went all the way back to Argentina just to get her a hat?” Whitney says, grinning.

“Well, it’s a lot quicker if you fly. Besides, she wanted one. She loved it, too. All any of us wanted was to try to make her happy. It turned into this running thing. I’d bring her hats from all over so it wouldn’t be as bad, you know. Losing all her hair.”

“What else did you bring her?”

“I got her a headwrap in South Africa. She loved that one. A Rastacap from Jamaica. Soft things like that were better so she could wear them lying down. She asked for a beret from Paris. Places far away like that I’d cheat, though and fly.”

“You didn’t want to sail all that way, huh?”

“Well, normally, sure. But I didn’t want to be gone too long. I kept my boat docked in the Caribbean or Gulf of Mexico somewhere and fly to Arizona to see her. I felt like I needed to stay close, especially when the cancer came back that second time. That’s the only time in my life it was hard to pick up and go places. No matter where I went or how long I was gone, it was like there was this part of me… kind of… anchored there in Scottsdale with Corrine. I’d feel really unsettled until I was with her again.”

Whitney’s listening thoughtfully, chewing on her bread.  

“I would’ve stayed there the whole time, but I was afraid she’d think I was just waiting around for her to die, and how was that going to help? It was better to say, ‘Hey, I’ll bring you something cool from Saint Lucia.’ There was this weird power in that, too. If I said I’d bring her back something, she had to stick around, you know? Like, that was a reason to fight.”

Whitney smiles, but I shrug.

“Honestly, looking back, it’s kind of stupid I thought that. As if she didn’t have enough reasons to live. It’s not like my little gifts were the things that would make her want to stay. But at the time, giving her things was like making an offer to whichever god could keep her from dying. Every time I brought something, her eyes would light up and I’d think it was working.” I shrug. “It’s funny what you hang onto in times like that.”

“I’m sure,” Whitney says. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

“I’d find the perfect thing and call and say, ‘Wait till you see it.’ But I wouldn’t tell her what it was, because, you know, wondering would keep her alive until the next time I saw her.”

“Hmmm.” Whitney smiles softly. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet. Delusional. Whatever word you want to use.”

She laughs. “Maybe she needed someone in her life who could leave for weeks at a time and say, ‘See you when I get back.’”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What was her favorite thing you brought her?”

“Aside from the African headwrap? Two shot glasses from the Bayou Boogaloo Festival in New Orleans.”

“Bayou Boogaloo?” she asks, laughing.

“Oh yeah. It was awesome. Music, food, people.”

“Why two glasses?”

I grin. “So we could take a shot together when she was better. And we did. She’d been done with her treatment for about a month and was living in Seattle with her mom at the time. They came down for the Christmas party my parents throw every year, and before the big toast, she pulled them out of her purse and she and I took a shot first.”

She told me she’d been saving them. I’d wanted to do it as soon as her treatment was done, but she claimed she wasn’t up for it physically. She eventually confessed that wasn’t completely true. When she went home from the Mayo Clinic, she still felt like she was straddling the line between life and death, and hadn’t yet really allowed herself to believe she could put both feet on the life side of the line. She knew she’d come to it eventually, it just took some time. She didn’t want to use those shot glasses until she was “all in.”

“Anyway,” I continue, “for a while she was kind of convalescing in Seattle, and she needed it. But her mom’s a little… overprotective. She always has been, but it’s even worse now. Just hanging around doing nothing made things worse for her after a while though, I guess. My parents went up last month and my mom kind of saw what was going on and decided it was time for Corrine to take the next step to rebuilding her life. So she says, ‘When are you coming back to work?’ and that was that.” I grin. “Gotta love my mom.”

Whitney smiles. “So Corrine’s doing okay now?”

“So far so good. We’re all holding our breath for the five year mark. That’s when the chances of it returning go way down. She’s just working part-time and living with my folks again, but Rayce says she’s getting her strength back. Thank God.”

“So she’s been in remission…” I see she’s doing the math in her head, but I know it without having to calculate.

“Eight months.” I brush the crumbs off my hands and pull out my phone. “Here.” I bring up the photo gallery. “My turn for pictures.”

“Oooh.” She scoots closer so she can see better. This girl gets brownie points for that, I can tell you.

I go to the older pictures first, and pull up one of the four of us on the beach in Swan Pointe. It’s one of my favorites. This was my junior year of high school, well before Corrine got cancer. Also before I shocked the hell out of my family to take off on my own. Rayce and Lizzy were both in college, but home for summer break. Rayce and I are standing next to one another wearing our swim trunks. The girls are in their suits as well and on our shoulders—Lizzy on Rayce’s and Corrine on mine—with their arms up in victory. We’re all sporting broad smiles and the dark California tans of deep summer.

“Oh my God, look how cute you were,” Whitney says. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen. That’s Corrine, there.” I point. Her long hair is flowing over her tan shoulders.

“I figured. You look like your siblings. You can tell you’re related.”

“Everyone says that.”

“So this is Lizzy and Rayce.” Whitney points.

I nod. I scroll until I find the one with Corrine in her gaucho hat. This picture is just her, sitting at the game table in Mom and Dad’s living room, looking pale from the chemo. She’s holding some playing cards and sticking her tongue out at me, the picture taker.

I laugh a little. I laugh every time I see this one.

“Why’s she sticking her tongue out?” Whitney asks, laughing a bit too.

“Because I just stomped all over her ass in gin rummy.”

“So when was this? Was she in treatment then?”

“Yeah. This was during the first round, so she’d go in a few times a week and be home in between. I think this was maybe three or four months in or something.”

“And with everything she was going through you didn’t let her win the card game?” Whitney playfully swats my arm.

“Oh no. The Rivers family takes competition very, very seriously. She’s not easy to beat, either, so let me tell you, that was one fine moment of glory.”

Whitney laughs and takes another slice of salami as I scroll through looking for my other favorite. “Just one more. I promise.”

“No, no.” She licks her fingers again. “I love this.”

And I love it when you lick those fucking fingers.

“Okay, here it is.” Whitney leans back in, her shoulder pressing against mine. I took this photo in the Mayo Clinic, Corrine’s home for nine fucking months. But she’s a fighter, and no other picture shows it more than this one. She was down to something like ninety-five pounds, and her complexion had turned sallow. Between the cancer trying to eat her alive and the chemo taking its own shot at it, she was weak and exhausted almost all the time.

She’s in her hospital bed, bald, all hooked up to IVs and monitors and oxygen. I’m leaning over the bed, my head close to hers, and we’re both looking at the camera, making “rock on” signs with our hands.

“That was our secret Fuck Cancer sign.” I grin at Corrine’s smile. “Our moms would’ve had our hides if we’d gone around flipping the bird all the time, so we came up with this instead.”

“I love that.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a recent picture of her?”

“Sure.” I flip through to the one I took the last time I was in town. “This was back in March.” We’re at her mom’s dining table, leaning close to each other and smiling for the camera, the remnants of our most recent hand of gin rummy on the table. Her hair’s growing back. She has a cute pixie cut that actually suits her well, though she’s a little self-conscious about it.

“Aww,” Whitney says. “So cute. Is that another gin rummy game?”

“Oh yeah. I can’t get out of a visit with Corrine without playing gin rummy. She fucking loves that game. Played it about a billion times when she was in the hospital.”

“Who won that one?”

“Irrelevant,” I say, tucking my phone away, and Whitney laughs.

“You’re close to your family.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She smiles. “Do you miss them?”

“Yes, I really do. But I go home for visits, and call them a lot. So, you know. It’s all good.”

“So you’re close to them, and you miss them, but not enough to stick around?”

Our eyes meet then. I’m not sure, but we might be talking about something else now.

“No,” I say, quietly. “Not enough for that.”

“That tells me how much you love it. I’ve seen it, too. Just the little I’ve been with you. It’s like this energy inside you coming out.” She talks about it like it’s a good thing, and I appreciate that.

“Yeah.” I look at the field and trees off in the distance. “That’s a good way to put it.” I can’t help but wander. I really can’t, and I’ve tried. “I just…” I hesitate. “I love my life, but there’s a downside to anything, I guess. I just wish I didn’t cause other people pain.”

“Like who?”

“Like the people who want me to stay.”

“Your family?”

I don’t respond. Yeah, my family, too. But that’s not who I’m thinking about.

“A girl?”

I sigh. She’s a smart cookie, this Whitney.

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Chapter 9

Whitney

I see the uncomfortable look on his face and know I’m right. Damn.

He nods. “All of the above.”

“What happened?”

He sighs and starts packing up after lunch.

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” he says quietly, standing and extending his hand to me so I can get up too. “Maybe you should know.”

We heft our packs onto our shoulders and he grabs his walking stick. We head back down the hill to the road. Connor’s quiet, working up to it, I think. After we’ve reached the road and fallen into a rhythm, he starts.

“Her name is Evie. We met in Middleton. That’s in South Australia.”

“Is she Australian?”

He nods.

“Does she have an accent?”

He gives a small smile. “Best part about our fights was hearing her swear at me with an accent.”

I laugh a little, but only a little. He’s already back to being serious again, lost in whatever thoughts are swirling around in his head.

“This was, wow, two years ago now. I’d been exploring New Zealand and Australia for a few months. I was about ready to take off to somewhere else when I met Evie.”

He pauses. Whatever story this is, it seems more difficult for him to tell than the one about his cousin.

“We were together six months. I docked my boat and we got an apartment together. She owned a surf shop, and I got a job as an adventure tour guide.” He shrugs. “I thought it’d be something fun to do, you know.” He rubs his fingers along his forehead, hesitating again.

“Did you love her?” I ask, prompting him.

He nods. “Yes.”

I gotta admit, I’m feeling little pangs of jealousy listening to him talk about another woman, as if he’s mine or something. But I still want to hear the story.

“It was a very… intense relationship. Everything she did, she did full throttle. She was exciting and daring and I did love her, but the fights were intense too and I didn’t care for that. I think I could’ve put up with it though. It wasn’t that, I guess.”

“You couldn’t stay.” I know where this is going.

He shakes his head. “No. And she didn’t want to travel like that. She had her shop. We’d take trips, but they were limited to her vacation time, and mine for that matter. I tried to stay. I really, really did. But it’s like you said. There’s this thing inside of me and it drives me. The longer I stayed, the more restless I got and she started to resent it. She thought I wanted to get away from her, but it wasn’t that. I just needed to go. Chase down that horizon. Just… go see something.”

I’m watching him and he’s watching the road, eyes distant as he’s remembering, his brows knit tight in frustration.

“I’d be going about my everyday work, and something in me was just pacing all the time.”

Like a wild animal caged, I think.

“Sometimes I have to wonder if there’s something wrong with me,” he continues, almost desperately, “because sometimes it’s like this… this itch I can’t scratch. Why can’t I just get it together and do the things people need me to do?”

He exhales sharply then falls to silence.

“Because,” I say gently, “there’s only so much changing you can do for another person. This is obviously who you are, Connor. Like, the very core of who you are, from what I can tell.” Even as I’m saying it, I’m seeing him more clearly than I have yet. He’s like this little piece of wind blowing around, belonging to no one but the earth itself.

Back in that café with Maggie and the others, when he said the world was his home, he wasn’t kidding.

As I look at his handsome face, I feel both awed to be in the presence of someone so genuine and wild, and sorrowful that my time with him is inevitably fleeting. I’ve suspected it all along, but it feels different now that I know for sure that a man like Connor can never be captured.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I say. “You can only be who you are. It’s all any of us can do. Sometimes being who we really are is just hard, but it’s still right.”

We’re walking down a gravel path that runs somewhat parallel to a highway. We’re quiet, both thinking.

“Whitney,” he says slowly.

We take a few more steps in silence. “Yeah?”

“I want to make sure there are no misunderstandings here.”

“There aren’t.”

He looks at me regretfully.

I sigh, regretful too, but it is what it is. I mean, I’m not thrilled with the situation. Yes, I wish things were different. I wish we were both in San Francisco instead of here. I’d definitely like more than a few short days with him. But, the fact that we have so little time together is probably for the best, because regardless of the situation, Connor will always be on the move anyway.

The time limit we’re staring down is a blessing in disguise. It’ll keep us from getting too attached. Too serious.

“We both know where this is going,” I say. “It’s okay. No one’s made any promises here.”

He sighs and stops. I stop too and he pulls me into his arms, looking me directly in the eye. “I’m not able to make promises.”

“I understand.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

He sighs, lowering his forehead to mine, still looking regretful. “I just want to enjoy you as much as I can, while it lasts.”

“I want that, too.” And I do. I take a deep breath. “Look, let’s don’t worry, all right? Let’s just have fun and enjoy it. Aren’t you enjoying it?”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “You know I am.”

I smile too, my heart warming at the way he’s looking at me. “Me too.” This is what we have to do. Just stay in the now. All I need to think about is me and Connor and how he makes me feel right now. And he makes me feel happy.

“I could use another kiss, though,” I say.

Because kisses help.

That night we stay at a small, private hostel in Dumbría, and (not for the first time) make enough noise to cause the hosts to avoid looking us directly in the eye the next morning. It’s our last full day together. We’ll be in Finisterre sometime this afternoon, find a place to stay, and tomorrow morning I’ll take a cab back to Santiago so I can catch my flight home.

And that will be that.

Connor will become a story I tell, and I’ll become another story for him.

Something about this happening tomorrow is making it more real than it’s felt so far. Every step I take closer to Finisterre, every hour that passes, makes it harder than it was yesterday. The hours are slipping through my fingers. Part of me wants to turn to him and say, “Say goodbye to me now and go, before it gets too painful.”

But I’m greedy. I want every minute of Connor I can get.

We’ve seen pilgrims on the road each day since we left Santiago, but are running into them more today. Or maybe it just seems that way because every time we do, I wish we didn’t. I don’t want to talk to other people. I just want to be with Connor.

Maybe he feels the same way, because within minutes of joining up with someone on the road, we do something to unjoin with them. We’ll either pass them, or if they’re going too fast for that, we’ll find a reason to stop artificially so they’ll pass us.

We do this without speaking about it. We do it all the way through the old sea town of Finisterre, with its boxey buildings and colorful red tile roofs.

When we finally get to the little cape that was considered, for centuries, to be the end of the world, my heart swoops up in my throat. The ocean goes on forever. In spite of being a modern woman who’s familiar with the world map, it still seems like this is the end of things.

The beach, a combination of sand and large black rock formations, stretches on in both directions. And that water. God, it just goes on. The sound of it is like a siren call, drawing me in. I can’t help but smile. I wanted to see this so badly, and walked an additional eighteen and a half miles to get it done. But I suppress the urge to cry.

Maybe it’s tears of joy. Maybe not. Either way, I don’t trust myself to let them go.

The ocean is enough to distract us for a while. We take off our boots and play in the water, walking along the shore as far as we dare with our packs lying on the beach behind us. We grab a quick dinner, then head back to the beach. There are more pilgrims now, coming for the sunset, just like we are. We manage to find a rock to sit on away from the others.

The closer the sun gets to the horizon—oranges and yellows glistening on the water—the faster it descends. We watch it in silence. Our arms are snug around each other, and my head is resting on his shoulder. The shimmering orb of the sun dips toward the water with steady determination. There’s no stopping a force like that. The bottom of the circle kisses the horizon and slips down into it. Farther and farther, until it is only a sliver of light that winks at us, and is gone.

We take a deep breath together, but don’t move. We sit like that until the sky darkens to a deep indigo with only a hint of pink streaking along the horizon.

Connor looks at me, and I tilt my head up to look at him. I don’t want to be sad, so I smile. He gives me a gentle, lingering kiss.

I should say goodbye right now. I should. It’s the perfect moment. But when he pulls away, I say, “Well… I guess we should find a place to stay.”

“Or,” he says quietly. “We could take a cab to Muxia and sleep on my boat.”

I smile. I guess if Connor doesn’t see a fork in the road, he’ll just go ahead and make one himself. A cab to Muxia was not in the plan, but I like it. I like it very much.

It’s dark when we get to the docks in Muxia and board Connor’s ship, which is not at all what I’d imagined. Rather than the ratty Forest Gump boat I had in mind, this is a fifty-five foot ocean trawler with a deck that shines in the moonlight. When we go into the interior I’m pleasantly surprised again. It has a clean, almost luxurious feel.

He takes me on a tour and I’m in love. It’s a magnificent vessel. There’s a spacious living area (called a saloon on a boat), full-sized appliances in the kitchen (galley), and even an en suite with a full-sized shower in the master stateroom (bedroom). There are two places to steer the boat: an interior wheelhouse with a seating area and table for guests behind the captain’s chair, and a “flying bridge” up top that’s open to the outside. There’s even a guest stateroom and a little nook to be used as an office space. Everything is gleaming and inviting.

My mind starts running away with me for a moment. What would it be like to live on this boat with him? It’d be comfortable enough, no question. But, tempting as it is, my mind doesn’t linger in that fantasy for two reasons.

One, I’ve given some thought to his lifestyle and I don’t think I could do it. I still feel as I did before: it’d be hard not to have a real home to return to. Not to mention the prospect of leaving my job.

Two, he hasn’t invited me, so it’s not like it’s an option to turn down anyway.

When we return to the main saloon, he raises his hands. “So this is it.”

I want to ask, How are you affording all this? But that feels like crossing a line, so I stick with what I know.

I step into his arms, go up on tiptoe, and kiss him.

His arms come around me and I rub my hands along his back. Our kiss deepens, and I wonder if this is the last time we’ll be together.

I push that thought away. Not yet. There will be more. We’re not done yet.

Our tongues explore one another, hands caressing. The heat in my body is rising. Without breaking our kiss, he picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me into the master stateroom and sets me on the bed, smoothly coming down on top of me. I put my hand on his jaw, caressing the soft whiskers. He holds my face too, and kisses me so tenderly I almost can’t breathe.

He pulls away, holding my eyes, and reaches for his pack, which he had propped next to the bed earlier. Heart thumping thickly in my chest, I don’t take my eyes off of him. He brings out the condoms, pulls one out, and puts it on the nightstand within easy reach.

While he does this I slip off my shorts and underwear. I sit up enough to remove my shirt and bra. He quietly undresses too, rolls on the condom, then comes back to me slowly, watching me. Still holding my eyes, he puts his forehead on mine, his hand on my jaw. Lips parted, our breaths mingle together as our bodies slowly rearrange so he can come inside me. I’m wet, and ready, and dying a little because of the way he’s looking at me.

As he slips inside, so slow and sweet, our mouths meet. And I can’t do this. It feels too much like making love. This is hard enough. I don’t want him to make love to me. I want him to fuck me. Only that.

Swallowing hard, I switch gears. I start kissing and stroking him in a way that’s intense and physical. It takes a minute. I have to persist. But soon he’s following my lead. And then it’s a little frantic. And then we’re fucking, only fucking, and it is a relief. I make myself forget the rest and just get carried away with it. Thank god his cock in me feels so good because I need to stay in this place.

I tell him to fuck me hard, but first he kisses me hard. And gropes my breasts. And clutches my shoulder and then he’s pounding me so hard lights explode behind my closed lids. I’m moaning and panting and he’s groaning in my ear. His muscles are flexing under my hands. His cock is hardening in my tight channel and I tell him, “More. Harder.”

We’re unleashed in a new way, then. It’s a wildness I’ve never experienced. It’s almost vulgar, but it’s so hot and my climax is building so strongly I know when I come, I’m going to come hard. He’s propped up above me, thrusting me with his entire body and making my whole body rock. I’m almost there.

This is it, I think. The last time.

When I let go, my orgasm shakes me with such violence I am transcended out of time and place. I gasp and convulse, helpless. Connor releases inside me and I throw my head back, crying out, tremors pulsing through me. I ride it out in desperation.

When it’s over, we’re both on our backs, panting.

We’re not touching at all. The afterglow of my orgasm is dissipating quickly. I tighten my hands into loose fists at my side. A shiver runs through me.

Connor notices this. He rolls toward me, presses his warm chest against mine, and cups my jaw in his hand. He kisses me deeply. Something inside me sighs as I feel my heart reconnect with his. He comes away, pecks me softly on my lips, and pulls me into his arms as he rolls onto his back.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but I’m grateful for it, because I couldn’t end whatever it is we just did with whatever that ending was. That kiss, however short, reminded me that it’s still Connor and still me and we’re still in this together.

Whatever this is.

You’ve been reading Beautiful Mine.