Hope gave a rueful smile. “You’ve always known me, haven’t you?”
In response, Tru lifted her hand and kissed it. “I believed in us.”
She felt herself flush again. “Would you like to read the letter?”
“You still have it?”
“I have a copy,” she said. “It’s in the box on the table.”
When she started to get up, Tru raised his hands to stop her. Rising from the couch, he fetched the carved box from the kitchen and was about to set it on the coffee table when Hope shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Put it here on the couch. Between us.”
“It’s heavy,” he observed, taking a seat again.
“It’s from Zimbabwe,” she said. “Open it. The letter is at the bottom.”
Tru lifted the lid. On top, he saw the wedding invitation, and he touched it with a questioning look; beneath it were the drawings, as well as the letter he’d written to her. At the bottom was an envelope, plain and unmarked. He was strangely affected by the sight of the drawings and letter.
“You kept them,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.
“Of course,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?” She touched his arm gently. “Even when I married Josh, I was still in love with you. I knew that as I took my vows. My feelings for you were passionate, but…peaceful. Because that’s how you made me feel during the week we spent together. At peace. Being with you felt like coming home.”
Tru swallowed through the lump in his throat. “It was the same for me.” He stared down at the letter. “Losing you was like feeling the earth fall away beneath my feet.”
“Read,” she said, nodding at the envelope. “It’s short.”
Tru returned the other items to the box before sliding the letter from the envelope. He read it slowly, rolling the words around in his mind, hearing her voice in every line. His chest filled, brimming now with unspoken emotion. He wanted to kiss her then, but didn’t. “I have something to give you.”
He got up and went to the end table near the door. Reaching into the canvas knapsack, he pulled out the book of bound sketches he’d made. Returning to the couch, he handed her the book. Kindred Spirit, the gold-stamped lettering on the cover read.
Hope looked from him to the book and back again, curiosity getting the better of her. Tru settled next to her as she ran her finger over the wording.
“I’m almost afraid to see what it is,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he urged as Hope finally opened the book. On the first page, there was a portrait of Hope at the edge of the pier, a place he’d never seen her. It was a sketch that seemed to capture everything about her, but since it had no role in their story, he viewed it as a title page of sorts.
He was silent as Hope turned the page, studying on the left an image of him walking the beach, and on the right, Hope trailing behind, some distance back. Scottie could be seen racing for the dune.
The next pages showed the two of them on the first morning they’d ever spoken; in the sketches, he was holding Scottie and her concern was evident in her worried expression. The next two pages showed them walking back toward the cottage; those were followed by drawings of the two of them drinking coffee on the back deck. The images blended together like a series of screen shots in a movie. Hope took a long time to work her way through to the end. When she finally did, he noted a tear track on her cheek.
“You captured all of it,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “I tried to, anyway. It’s for you.”
“No,” she said. “This is a work of art.”
“It’s us,” he said.
“When did you…”
“It took years,” he said.
She ran her hand over the cover again. “I don’t know what to say. But there’s no way you can give this to me. It’s…a treasure.”
“I can always make another one. And ever since I finished, I’ve been dreaming of the day I would see you again, so I could show you how you’ve lived on in my soul.”
She continued to hold the book in her lap, clutching it as though she never wanted to let it go. “You even added that moment on the beach, after I told you Josh had proposed, when you held me…”
He waited as she searched for the words.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that,” she said in a low voice. “As we walked, I was trying to figure out a way to tell you, and I was so confused and scared. I could feel this void already beginning to form because I knew we were going to say goodbye. But I wanted it to be on our terms, whatever that meant, and it felt like Josh took that away from me…”
He could hear the plea in her tone. “I thought I understood how much I hurt you that day, but seeing the drawing of you in that moment is devastating. The expression on your face—the way you drew yourself…”
Her voice trembled, and she trailed off. Tru swallowed, acknowledging the truth of her words. It had been one of the most painful renderings in the entire book, one he’d had to walk away from more than once.
“And then, do you know what you did? You didn’t argue, or get angry, or make demands. Instead, your first instinct was just to hold me. To comfort me, even when it should have been the other way around. I didn’t deserve it, but you knew it was something that I needed.” She fought to keep her composure. “That’s what I feel like I missed out on when I married Josh—having someone who would comfort me when things were at their worst. And then, today, at the mailbox, when I was in shock and had no idea what to say or do, you took me in your arms again. Because you knew I felt like I had fallen off a cliff and needed you to catch me.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know if Josh ever held me like that—with perfect empathy. It made me think again how much I gave up when I drove away that day.”
He watched her without moving, then finally reached for the box and placed it on the table. He put his hand on the book of sketches he’d created, loosening it from her grip, and set it beside the box before putting his arm around her. Hope leaned into him. He kissed her hair softly, just as he’d done so long ago.
“I’m here now,” he whispered. “We were in love, but the timing wasn’t right. And all the love in the world can’t alter timing.”
“I know,” she said, “but I think we would have been good together. I think we could have made each other happy…” He watched as she closed her eyes before slowly opening them again. “And now it’s too late,” she said, her voice desolate.
Tru used a finger to gently lift her chin. She faced him, as beautiful as any woman he’d ever seen. He leaned closer, their lips coming together. Her mouth was warm and eager.
“It’s never too late to hold you,” he murmured.
Rising from the couch, he reached for her hand. The moon had risen, casting a silvery beam through the window to compete with the molten glow of the fire. She rose, slowly, and he kissed the hand he’d been holding. Languorously, he pulled her toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling as her arms twined around his neck. She rested her head against his shoulder, her breath fluttering against his collarbone, and he thought to himself that this was all he’d ever wanted. She was all he’d ever wanted. He’d known she was the one since the moment he’d met her; he’d known since then that there would never be another.
From the porch, he heard the distant tinkle of wind chimes. Hope’s body swayed against his, beckoning and warm, and he gave in to everything he was feeling.
Her mouth opened beneath his, her tongue flicking against his. It was hot and moist, the sensation unchanged after all this time, ageless and elemental. He tightened his arms around her, melding her body to his. His hand roved over her back and into her hair, then caressed her back again. He’d waited so long for this, reliving it on so many lonely nights. When the kiss ended, Hope rested her head on his chest, her body beginning to shake.
He heard her sniff, and with alarm, he realized she was crying. When he pulled back, she refused to meet his gaze. Instead, she kept her face buried in his chest.
In response, Tru lifted her hand and kissed it. “I believed in us.”
She felt herself flush again. “Would you like to read the letter?”
“You still have it?”
“I have a copy,” she said. “It’s in the box on the table.”
When she started to get up, Tru raised his hands to stop her. Rising from the couch, he fetched the carved box from the kitchen and was about to set it on the coffee table when Hope shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Put it here on the couch. Between us.”
“It’s heavy,” he observed, taking a seat again.
“It’s from Zimbabwe,” she said. “Open it. The letter is at the bottom.”
Tru lifted the lid. On top, he saw the wedding invitation, and he touched it with a questioning look; beneath it were the drawings, as well as the letter he’d written to her. At the bottom was an envelope, plain and unmarked. He was strangely affected by the sight of the drawings and letter.
“You kept them,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.
“Of course,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?” She touched his arm gently. “Even when I married Josh, I was still in love with you. I knew that as I took my vows. My feelings for you were passionate, but…peaceful. Because that’s how you made me feel during the week we spent together. At peace. Being with you felt like coming home.”
Tru swallowed through the lump in his throat. “It was the same for me.” He stared down at the letter. “Losing you was like feeling the earth fall away beneath my feet.”
“Read,” she said, nodding at the envelope. “It’s short.”
Tru returned the other items to the box before sliding the letter from the envelope. He read it slowly, rolling the words around in his mind, hearing her voice in every line. His chest filled, brimming now with unspoken emotion. He wanted to kiss her then, but didn’t. “I have something to give you.”
He got up and went to the end table near the door. Reaching into the canvas knapsack, he pulled out the book of bound sketches he’d made. Returning to the couch, he handed her the book. Kindred Spirit, the gold-stamped lettering on the cover read.
Hope looked from him to the book and back again, curiosity getting the better of her. Tru settled next to her as she ran her finger over the wording.
“I’m almost afraid to see what it is,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he urged as Hope finally opened the book. On the first page, there was a portrait of Hope at the edge of the pier, a place he’d never seen her. It was a sketch that seemed to capture everything about her, but since it had no role in their story, he viewed it as a title page of sorts.
He was silent as Hope turned the page, studying on the left an image of him walking the beach, and on the right, Hope trailing behind, some distance back. Scottie could be seen racing for the dune.
The next pages showed the two of them on the first morning they’d ever spoken; in the sketches, he was holding Scottie and her concern was evident in her worried expression. The next two pages showed them walking back toward the cottage; those were followed by drawings of the two of them drinking coffee on the back deck. The images blended together like a series of screen shots in a movie. Hope took a long time to work her way through to the end. When she finally did, he noted a tear track on her cheek.
“You captured all of it,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “I tried to, anyway. It’s for you.”
“No,” she said. “This is a work of art.”
“It’s us,” he said.
“When did you…”
“It took years,” he said.
She ran her hand over the cover again. “I don’t know what to say. But there’s no way you can give this to me. It’s…a treasure.”
“I can always make another one. And ever since I finished, I’ve been dreaming of the day I would see you again, so I could show you how you’ve lived on in my soul.”
She continued to hold the book in her lap, clutching it as though she never wanted to let it go. “You even added that moment on the beach, after I told you Josh had proposed, when you held me…”
He waited as she searched for the words.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that,” she said in a low voice. “As we walked, I was trying to figure out a way to tell you, and I was so confused and scared. I could feel this void already beginning to form because I knew we were going to say goodbye. But I wanted it to be on our terms, whatever that meant, and it felt like Josh took that away from me…”
He could hear the plea in her tone. “I thought I understood how much I hurt you that day, but seeing the drawing of you in that moment is devastating. The expression on your face—the way you drew yourself…”
Her voice trembled, and she trailed off. Tru swallowed, acknowledging the truth of her words. It had been one of the most painful renderings in the entire book, one he’d had to walk away from more than once.
“And then, do you know what you did? You didn’t argue, or get angry, or make demands. Instead, your first instinct was just to hold me. To comfort me, even when it should have been the other way around. I didn’t deserve it, but you knew it was something that I needed.” She fought to keep her composure. “That’s what I feel like I missed out on when I married Josh—having someone who would comfort me when things were at their worst. And then, today, at the mailbox, when I was in shock and had no idea what to say or do, you took me in your arms again. Because you knew I felt like I had fallen off a cliff and needed you to catch me.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know if Josh ever held me like that—with perfect empathy. It made me think again how much I gave up when I drove away that day.”
He watched her without moving, then finally reached for the box and placed it on the table. He put his hand on the book of sketches he’d created, loosening it from her grip, and set it beside the box before putting his arm around her. Hope leaned into him. He kissed her hair softly, just as he’d done so long ago.
“I’m here now,” he whispered. “We were in love, but the timing wasn’t right. And all the love in the world can’t alter timing.”
“I know,” she said, “but I think we would have been good together. I think we could have made each other happy…” He watched as she closed her eyes before slowly opening them again. “And now it’s too late,” she said, her voice desolate.
Tru used a finger to gently lift her chin. She faced him, as beautiful as any woman he’d ever seen. He leaned closer, their lips coming together. Her mouth was warm and eager.
“It’s never too late to hold you,” he murmured.
Rising from the couch, he reached for her hand. The moon had risen, casting a silvery beam through the window to compete with the molten glow of the fire. She rose, slowly, and he kissed the hand he’d been holding. Languorously, he pulled her toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling as her arms twined around his neck. She rested her head against his shoulder, her breath fluttering against his collarbone, and he thought to himself that this was all he’d ever wanted. She was all he’d ever wanted. He’d known she was the one since the moment he’d met her; he’d known since then that there would never be another.
From the porch, he heard the distant tinkle of wind chimes. Hope’s body swayed against his, beckoning and warm, and he gave in to everything he was feeling.
Her mouth opened beneath his, her tongue flicking against his. It was hot and moist, the sensation unchanged after all this time, ageless and elemental. He tightened his arms around her, melding her body to his. His hand roved over her back and into her hair, then caressed her back again. He’d waited so long for this, reliving it on so many lonely nights. When the kiss ended, Hope rested her head on his chest, her body beginning to shake.
He heard her sniff, and with alarm, he realized she was crying. When he pulled back, she refused to meet his gaze. Instead, she kept her face buried in his chest.
