“It’s like I’m sitting right next to CliffsNotes.”
She laughs and nudges me. “I always liked a tragedy. If you think about it, all the great ballets are so sad.Gizelle.Romeo and Juliet.Swan Lake.”
“You like the dark stuff?” I ask her.
She takes a beat, like she’s thinking. “I like that the stories create all this feeling in the dancer and in the audience and it connects them. And then at the end, the lights go up, and the dancers all take their bows. It’s all fine. None of it’s real.”
“Even though the endings might not be happy, it’s all okay?” I suggest.
Our gazes lock.
“Exactly.”
We’ve known each other an amount of time that can still be counted in minutes, but our conversation isn’t cursory. We’re right at the heart of who we are. Who we want to be.
Even with my closest friends, I’m not sure I’ve felt this connected.
She stares out onto the fountain. “You know I’ve never been into Central Park.” The conversation shifts.
“Really?” I ask. “Despite your annual trips to New York?”
“Yeah. Maybe I don’t want to believe that I could have been happy here, you know? I don’t want to start feeling too familiar with the place.”
Her words burrow into me, leaving contrails of sadness in my chest. She sacrificed so much for her family.
“Colorado is beautiful,” she says. “I know I’d miss the mountains and the valleys if I was to ever leave. I don’t think I ever wanted to know if Central Park would fill up that part of me that needed the green. The nature.”
“So it’s good you’re seeing it in the dark.”
She laughs. “Right.” She stands, taking my hand. “Let’s go closer to the fountain.” She glances at the sky. “I want to see something.”
I follow her as she races down the steps and stares into the water surrounding the fountain. She looks between the sky and the pool.
“Even with all the lights, you can still see the reflection of the moon.” She grins, turning to me, urging me to see what she sees. Her sense of excitement is contagious and I smile, so widely and out of the ordinary that my cheeks hurt.
“The moonlight’s reflection,” she says on a sigh. “There’s something magical about it, don’t you think?”
I’ve never thought about it. Not until right now. “I don’t think much about moonlight.”
She tilts her head, like I’m giving her new information about myself, but is it really so remarkable? Who goes around thinking about moonlight?
Iris. That’s who.
“I think you’re right,” I say. My eyes dip to the pool surrounding the fountain and then back at her. She’s lit up by the streetlamps around the celebrated Bethesda Fountain, but still finds the most magical thing about our surroundings, the moonlight reflected in the water.
I can’t help but thinkshe’sthe most magical thing in New York. And she’s in front of me. I have an overwhelming need to be closer to her.
“I want to kiss you,” I say, stepping closer.
She reaches out and presses her palm against my cheek.
Our eyes lock and my chest expands. Warmth surges through my body, and I close my eyes and press my lips to hers. I can taste summer meadows and sunshine on her lips. We shift so we’re closer, and I deepen our kiss, my tongue pushing through her lips, meeting hers, and I can’t hold back a groan. It’s like I’vewaited a lifetime for this kiss. She’s warm and soft and sweet and so goddamn real. And I’m not thinking about anything but her. She blocks out any thoughts about real life and makes it all about the here and now.
Her hands slide down to my chest, and I wish I could rip off my shirt and give her full access to my body, like she’s had to my soul all evening. I want to show her everything. I want her to know me like it feels like she might already.
She pulls back first. I’m not ready for our kiss to end, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready. I want to dive back in and lose myself in her.
Her lips are red and swollen, her breaths coming fast and shallow.
