The Lighthouse
By Nicola Beaumont
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He wanted to put his arms around her, but he stopped himself. If he touched her, he might never let go…
“Malachi,” she said softly. “I need to ask you a question.”
She looked hesitant, and he wondered why. They could tell each other anything—she knew that.
He waited for her to speak.
“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if we ever became more than friends?”
His heart skipped a beat, and then pounded fast and hard against his ribcage. He envisioned taking her into his arms and telling her about all the love and passion he’d kept hidden these past years, but he wasn’t sure she could handle the total gospel, so he stalled while his mind searched for a version of the truth that wouldn’t panic her. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes the way you look at me, it makes me wonder.”
He stepped closer to her, acutely aware of the twigs snapping beneath his hiking boots. Something rustled through the canopy and landed with a soft whoosh, as it hit the blanketed forest floor. The breeze shifted the honey coloured tendrils of the hair framing her face. She smiled.
He didn’t. He couldn’t. She had to know this was serious. “What would you say if I said, yes, I’ve thought of it? Would you accept that, would you want it, or would it ruin our friendship?” He moved a step closer.
Her gaze dropped to his feet, and then traveled back to his face. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”