The further we travel, the more the scenery alters. It switches from an urban jungle of buildings and asphalt roads to lush greenery and loose-gravel roads in under twenty minutes.
Emerson’s arms tighten around my waist when I veer down a road we traveled many years ago. Her excitement is as palpableas mine, her memories as vivid. This is where I took her on our first official date. It was summer back then, and we were in the comfort of her mother’s car, but we made enough memories to last us a lifetime, which means this is only our second visit.
After weaving past a locked boom gate, I park at the side of an empty lot before helping Emerson off my bike. She removes her helmet and fluffs out her flattened hair, the excitement on her face as breathtaking as the sight we’re about to take in.
In silence, we walk toward the sound of rushing water. I can tell the exact moment Emerson spots the waterfall that will never stop flowing no matter the temperature. Her breath catches in her throat as the most dazzling smile stretches across her face.
“It is…” She can’t finish her sentence. The cascading water has rendered her speechless, and it makes me even more grateful that I set aside my earlier frustrations.
Seeing her like this, speechless and in awe, could only be better if she were naked beneath me, panting in ecstasy.
The waterfall is even more stunning than I remembered. The constant flow of water creates a mist that cools the air around us even more than my unrelenting speed, but its natural beauty makes it barely noticeable.
Emerson’s nose is the color of beets, but she doesn’t seem to mind. The water captivates her, her eyes sparkling with joy.
I linger back, certain the combined view of Emerson and the waterfall will far exceed a natural wonder centuries in the making.
Emerson steps close to the edge before dipping her fingers into the water. Despite the chill, when she twists to face me, her smile is capable of warming my chest more than any synthetic material.
We share an array of memories without a word being spoken between us, and it heals the cracks her equally silent departure caused.
Water could always calm Emerson’s wildest storms. I now understand why. The atmosphere feels almost magical, so much so that I don’t hesitate when Emerson asks if we can climb to the crest.
The last time we were here, the area had recently experienced a deluge of rain. It made the conditions unsafe, so instead of spiking Emerson’s blood with adrenaline with a dangerous climb, I achieved a similar result in the back seat of her mother’s beat-up Lada.
The path is steep and slippery, but the enthusiasm beaming out of Emerson is infectious. I match her eagerness, and in no time, the silence is filled with chatter and laughter. We talk the entire way, the sound of rushing water accompanying us.
The climb is challenging, but when we reach the top, the view makes it worthwhile. It is breathtaking. The landscape stretches from one side to the next, a mix of greenery and sparkling water so cold that it is the bluest of blues.
I twist to face Emerson when she murmurs, “As icy as your eyes.” Her cheeks whiten when it dawns on her that she said her statement out loud, but she tries to play it off. “And as blue as your balls have never been.” She grimaces, and it ends the tension in an instant.
She has always sucked at analogies.
“Careful,” I murmur when she moves close to the edge, desperate to tear her embarrassed face from my view.
“Wow,” she whispers, her chest stilling as if she is too afraid to breathe for the fear of a deep gasp pulling her out of her dream. “It is so beautiful.”
With my eyes locked on her instead of the natural wonder before us, I reply, “It sure is.”
Memories of our past linger in the back of my mind while I drink in the beautiful vista. I wonder if Emerson is thinking the same, but I don’t dare to ask. World War III can take a moment of reprieve as well.
Emerson turns to face me, her eyes reflecting a myriad of colors. “Do you remember the first time we came here?”
I nod, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “How could I forget?”
It was the summer that changed everything.
It was the week she officially became mine.
Emerson sighs, a mixture of sadness and nostalgia in her expression. “We were so young back then and so full of hope.” Her laugh echoes in the quiet. “I also thought we were so grown up.”
Her eye roll stops halfway when I say, “We were.”
Shepfftsme. “We were planning to marry at twenty-one.”
Interested to see where she’s going with this, but not wanting to dictate the course of our conversation, I keep my reply short. “And?”
She follows along with my plan nicely. “And your family had every right to be apprehensive.” I huff, but she continues as if I didn’t make a sound. “We were too young and too naïve to understand the complexities of marriage.”
