House on the Hill

POV: Clayton

"Home first," I say, pulling the truck out of the Hamura’s parking lot. "You need a shower, and I think you’ll feel better if you aren't wearing the same 'concert' clothes you’ve been in for thirty-six hours."

Zia looks down at her Batman shirt. "What? This is a classic." But she doesn't argue.

The drive to our house is quiet. When we pull into the driveway of the wrap-around porch house, she stares at it through the windshield. I can see her trying to find a "hook"—a memory to latch onto. To her, this is a mansion she didn't earn. To me, it’s the place where we danced in the kitchen three nights ago.

"Go ahead," I tell her, unlocking the front door. "Your side of the closet is the left. Everything is exactly where you left it."

I stay in the kitchen, giving her space. I hear the shower start upstairs. I take the moment to lean against the counter and just breathe. My jaw still aches from her punch, but my heart is the thing that’s really throbbing. I check my phone. A text from a friend asking how the "camping trip" went. I delete it. I can't explain this to anyone else today.

Forty minutes later, Zia comes down the stairs. She’s wearing a sundress I bought her in Hanalei last summer—yellow with white daisies. She looks beautiful, and for a split second, the 25-year-old Zia is back. Then she speaks, and the illusion shatters.

"I found this in a drawer," she says, holding up a small, rose-gold locket. "It’s locked. Do you have the key?"

"You keep the key in your jewelry box," I say softly. "Under the velvet lining. We’ll look for it later. Ready to go?"

She nods, clutching her purse. "Where to?"

"The South Side. Poipu."

When we get to the South Side, the transition from the lush green of Hanalei to the sun-drenched, rocky coast of Poipu seems to relax her.

We hike up the Maha'ulepu Trail. The wind is whipping off the ocean, carrying the scent of salt and ancient dust. We reach a high point on the lithified cliffs, the golden stone glowing in the afternoon light. Below us, the turquoise water churns into white foam against the rocks.

"This is the second pinnacle," I say, stopping where the trail widens into a natural lookout.

Zia looks around, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. "It’s beautiful. It feels... bigger than the harbor."

"It is. This is where I asked you to be my girlfriend."

She turns to me, a lock of dark hair caught in her eyelashes. "Really? On a cliff? You’re kind of a drama queen, aren't you, Clayton?"

I bark out a laugh—a real one. "I prefer 'romantic,' but I'll take drama queen. We’d been 'just friends' for months. I was terrified. I thought if I asked you in a beautiful place, you’d be too distracted by the view to say no."

Zia smiles, looking out at the horizon. "Did I make you sweat it out?"

"For about ten minutes," I admit, stepping a little closer, feeling the familiar pull of her presence. "We sat right there on that ledge. You told me all the reasons why we shouldn't work. You were twenty and you were scared of getting tied down. You wanted to see the world."

"And what did you say?" she whispers, her curiosity finally outweighing her fear.

"I told you that I didn't want to tie you down. I wanted to be the person who saw the world with you. I told you that being with me wouldn't be a cage—it would be home base."

I reach out, my heart hammering against my ribs just as hard as it did that day years ago. I offer my hand. She looks at it, then slowly, tentatively, slides her smaller hand into mine. Her skin is warm.

"You told me that if I was 'home base,' you were willing to play the game," I say softly.

She looks down at our joined hands, her thumb grazing the side of my palm. "I can see why I said yes. You’re very convincing, Clayton."

"I’m just honest," I say.

The silence between us isn't awkward anymore. It’s heavy, but it’s the weight of something being rebuilt, brick by brick. We stand there for a long time, watching a sea turtle surface in the waves far below. For a moment, she isn't a "patient" and I’m not a "stranger." We’re just two people on a cliff, trying to figure out how to be us.