There Jack and I sat, reminiscing, swigging whiskey. And for a time, I was able to block out all the misery of the Flash. For a time, I was happy.
He showed me a picture of scenery from that spring. “The camera got knocked sideways, didn’t get anybody in frame. I always meant to throw that one away, but now . . . just look at those trees, Evie. That crystal-clear water.” He handed me the flask. “I believe we’ll have it again.”
“You truly do?” I’d been bullish about ending the game, but this interminable nighttime was throwing me. Would the sun never return? Was it better in other parts of the world? Maybe the equator?
“Ouais.” He tucked the photos back into the envelope. “Your mère told me you were special. Your grand-mère told you that you would save the world. I believe you will. You got to.”
“No pressure,” I said with a buzzed smile.
“Get steppin’, fille. I got an envie for things.” A craving.
I swigged. “Like what?”
He cast me a wolfish grin. “Cerises.” Cherries. We’d eaten them before we’d first kissed.
“What else do you crave?” When his wolfish grin deepened, I said, “What other foods do you crave? Contiens-toi.” Behave yourself.
He raised his palms in surrender. “Je cesse. Pour le moment.” I’ll stop. For now. “I miss fried okra and corn on the cob. You?”
“Hush puppies and mashed potatoes.”
“I made some mean hush puppies on my old cabin’s stove. I’ll cook them for you one day.” His gaze went distant, his head tipping back. “You remember how warm that breeze from the south could be? Smelling of the sea, of far-off places? I hated where I was so much that I would’ve gone anywhere else in the world. Now I wish to God I could go back to the Basin.”
I’d once regretted that Jack and I never talked. Now, when everything was so up in the air, I realized we’d just needed the time to talk. We’d always been on the run, fighting for our lives. And it didn’t hurt to get him on the right subject: the home we both missed so badly.
I handed him the flask, our fingers grazing. “I’d do anything to see a field of sugarcane beneath a blue sky. The rasp of the leaves could make my heart swell.”
“One day, you and me’ll stand together on the front porch of Haven and gaze out at green for miles and miles. We’ll swim in springs and go to concerts.” He capped the flask, setting it away. “When I look into those eyes of yours . . .”
“What?”
“Not much is still blue in this world. Not the sky, not the water. I look in your eyes and see our future. I feel it.” He reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out my poppy-red ribbon.
“You still have it!”
“Carry it with me, everywhere I go. Mon porte-bonheur.” My good-luck charm. “This tells me we’re goan to be together again.”
The hope in his expression captivated me—almost completely.
Almost. I’ve been dreaming of you, Jack, and I wish I could trust you. Someone else is tugging at my heart. . . .
“I’m goan to let you borrow this ribbon for now.” He tucked it into my front pocket. “You give it back to me when you can’t see yourself with any man but me.”
Being with Jack was like touching fire. When his fingers lingered on my jeans, I recognized the spark that could turn to an inferno.
My breaths shallowed; his eyes grew intent.
He reached for my hips, lifting me over his lap to straddle him.
“Jack!” I laid my palms on his shoulders.
With his gaze on my mouth, he bit his bottom lip, as if inviting me to do the same to him. “Give my right arm to taste you right now.”
A sense of rightness bloomed inside me. To be with him like this. To be warmed by our fire. To be on the verge of kissing, of making love. My glyphs glowed, reflecting in his eyes.
He gripped my hips, pressing me down atop his hardness, and I gasped with pleasure. “Yes.”
Lids heavy, he rocked me over his lap, banking that fire for both of us. “À moi, Evangeline,” he said, his voice dripping with pent-up lust. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. You’re goan to find your way back to us.” He dipped his hands to my ass, the heat of his palms searing me through my jeans.
When he squeezed, I rolled my hips, wrenching a low groan from his chest. His lips parted around ragged breaths. I panted, about to lose control. The chemistry between us was explosive. Combustible. If he ached even half as badly as I did . . .
But if this went any further, I’d only want more and more of him. Already I yearned for his hands cupping me all over, for just one last lick of flames.
Soon I’d reach a point where it was too late to pull back—because I would already be burned.
He must’ve sensed my hesitation. “But I woan rush you, no.” He shuddered as he lifted me off his lap. “I’m in this for the long run.”
I was half-dazed when he set me down. He tugged me close to his side, draping his arm over my shoulders to hold me tight. “Just rest your head against me.”
I was helpless not to, hypnotized by the drum of his heart.
“I’m goan to tell you about a day we once had in the bayou—when there was no Flash. The day we should’ve had. Our first date.”
Still catching my breath, I said, “What’d we do on this date?”
“We started out early . . .” He switched to French, murmuring in that deep voice, “. . . because I wanted as much time with you as possible. We packed food, beer, and a radio. Then we paddled a pirogue to a cypress stand I knew, one right in the middle of the water. The surface was so still, it mirrored the trees. The cicadas would go quiet whenever we drifted too close.” He pressed a kiss against my hair. “We decided it was our place. No one else’s. Because that was where we became Evie and Jack.”