I was face-to-face with my reflection in the dark river as I hung off the log, one arm hanging down toward the water. I studied the girl looking back at me — her long, dark blonde hair, slightly lighter at the ends from the summer sun. Her eyes were wide, cheeks high, smile genuine. She was far from the broken girl I’d seen in the mirror the first night Rhodes touched me.

That summer changed me — not just on the outside, but the inside, too. I didn’t look at life as a burden or a puzzle I didn’t fit into anymore. Instead, it was a beautiful challenge, one I didn’t have to face alone. The girl gazing up at me from the river might have been thirty pounds lighter than the girl who entered that summer, but she was also thirty times stronger. She was smarter, more experienced — and she had no limits.

Extending my pointer finger, the tip just barely touched the surface of the water, sparking a ripple that distorted my face first before taking the rest of my body with it. It was then that I realized my life was my own. I could do anything, be anyone, if I only had the courage.

When Rhodes called my name, motioning back to the canoe, boyish grin locked on his face, I nodded and leaned up on the log. But before I jumped into the water, I glanced back down at River Natalie one more time, appreciating her for how far she’d come and knowing that there was still so much more to come for her, too.

I’d been so focused on losing weight, on getting to a certain point where I thought I’d find happiness. It turned out that joy wasn’t made by the destination, but rather discovered in the journey.

I looked forward to the next mile in mine.

About an hour later, we came upon a large treehouse extending about twenty feet above the water. There was a fire pit just below it and a hammock hanging between two trees sticking up through the water of the river.

“Wow,” I breathed. “How neat is this?”

“Glad you like our home for the evening.”

I spun around. “Are you serious?”

Rhodes smiled, steering the canoe toward the house. Once we reached the bank, he hopped out and steadied it as I did the same before pulling it up onto shore. We each grabbed a bag and Rhodes lifted the cooler.

“We’re staying here?”

“We are. It’s all ours tonight.”

I couldn’t help the giddy feeling coming over me. I was never much of a camping kind of girl, but I always wanted a treehouse. Dale never built me one, he said it would be an eyesore on our perfect yard.

This house was the farthest thing from an eyesore.

We climbed up the wooden steps to the entrance, revealing an outdoor dining area complete with a rocking chair and tiki torches. Just inside was a small but clean and cozy futon, a make-shift kitchen with gas grill and cooking utensils and plenty of oil candles. It was just like any treehouse I’d ever dreamed of, except adult-size. All I needed was a No Boys Allowed sign. Sneaking a peek at the sliver of skin between the hem of Rhodes’ shirt and his swim trunks as he reached up to tuck our cooler onto a shelf in the kitchen, I swallowed.

Never mind about that sign.

“Are you hungry yet?”

“Not really. Can we explore?”

Rhodes smiled. “Absolutely.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon hiking, swinging off rope swings into the river, and lounging in the hammock out front. We talked about a little of everything, including how Rhodes had been looking into culinary schools. It was as if we were finding our confidence together — me in my body, Rhodes in his ability to be better than his past. It’s amazing how just having someone believe in you can suddenly make something that seemed so impossible to achieve feel like it’s only a matter of when, not if.

After dinner, Rhodes and I sat around the fire pit listening to the nature all around us. We made s’mores, which shocked me since I’d never seen Rhodes eat anything outside of his strict meal plan, and I played around with my camera, catching different shots of Rhodes through the flames of the fire.

“Why do you love photography?”

I smiled, snapping another photo of him. The orange glow from the fire played against the shadows of the night on his face. “I told you once before. You don’t remember?”

“You told me you’re nerdy about it and it’s your passion. But you never told me why.”

I frowned, realizing I didn’t really know the answer. “I guess I just love the power of being able to temporarily freeze a moment in time, even if it’s not as good as the real thing. I like being able to pick up a photo, close my eyes, and feel that place and time again.” I flipped through a few settings on my camera and took another shot. “We have thousands of memories and our brain is like a never-ending filing cabinet. But sometimes you forget about something until someone reminds you to pull that file. That’s what photos do for me. They take me back.”

“And what about the future?”

I dropped my camera into my lap, adjusting my position on the small tree stump. “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to shoot photos for the future, photos that would drive me and make others who weren’t in my memories feel something powerful. But, I guess, to be honest, I’m just kind of lacking inspiration.”

It hurt to admit, because I’d always thought photography was the one thing in my life I had complete control over, but the truth was that I knew I had so much work to do to really hone my skills. It was part of the reason I wanted to go to an art school, not a state university.

Rhodes seemed lost in thought across the fire. After a moment, he slowly rose and pulled me to my feet, too. Sliding his hands into my hair, he pressed his lips to mine, claiming my mouth with his own. It was a possessive kiss. It was needy, yet patient and sure. He broke it long enough to whisper against my lips.

“So let me inspire you.”

Suddenly, the fire’s heat seemed so futile.

In one fluid movement, Rhodes lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles. His mouth never left mine as he climbed the stairs. He laid me down softly onto the futon and stood, grabbing his shirt at the back of his neck and pulling it up and over his head. In the candlelight, the ridges of his abdomen were highlighted even more than usual. I bit my lip in anticipation of having him pressed against me.

Moving to the edge of the futon, I slid my hands over his muscles, and each one tensed with the touch. I pressed my lips to his skin, kissing him over and over. His hands found my hair, and the urge to take control hit me.