“It’s fine. I put plenty of milk in it,” he says.
“Ah-ha!” I turn to him with a look. “So youhaveburned your mouth on thermos coffee before. Admit it.”
“It happened one time.” His bottom lip tics. It’s a playful fib, and I kind of like that I know that about him.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“We wait.”
I sip my coffee and try to quiet my mind. My thoughts are racing. Connor is sitting next to me, his shoulder touching mine. His leg touching my leg. He’s leaning back against the wall, chin raised slightly as he searches the horizon for magic only he can see.
He blinks slowly, and from this angle, his eyes look translucent. See-through like glass. He breathes slowly too. Inhaling for several long seconds, holding it for four, and releasing it even slower.
I watch, holding my breath as he does it. My lungs burn, and the next time he exhales, I do too. I mistime it. I must. I must have breathed out when I was meant to breathe in because I start spluttering and coughing.
I take a big sip of coffee and force it down.
Without taking his eyes off the horizon, Connor reaches behind me and pats my back gently. His hand is warm. Big and heavier than I thought it would be. He leaves it on my back for a fraction of a second longer than strictly required.
To my surprise, I find I don’t mind it.
I’m not saying I like it. I’m just saying that when he moves it, I feel it. A handprint that’s heated from when he touched me. It takes a while to cool when he moves it.
As the minutes tick by, Earth rotates on its axis. Before us, the night sky changes. Dusty hues infiltrate a curtain of black. A soft, smoky gray that gradually lightens.
Connor looks straight ahead.
I look at Connor.
Brand-new wisps of sunlight highlight his profile, finding the tiny hairs on his cheekbones and making them glow. His eyes are at half-mast. Lids heavy with contentment. His breathing is even. Slow and considered. He receives the air he breathes in as though it’s a benediction. With gratitude and presence. He expels it the same way.
The light hitting him slowly changes. Cool hues warm up as they outline his profile.
I feel the solid wall of him against my right shoulder and thigh. He’s steady. Hard and strong in ways that confuse me.
Without meaning to, I let myself lean against him.
He doesn’t flinch or move. He doesn’t react at all, except to stay exactly where he is. Where I need him to be.
When I look back at the horizon, dusty color has morphed. It’s taken on a life of its own. Dawn has raised her head. Arms outstretched as she breathes life into the day. Vivid yellow and orange splashes fan out, splintering in long lines that paint possibility all over the sky.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen the sunrise. Years, most likely. Not since I was nineteen or twenty, coming home from a night out so late that it was early. I don’t remember it being like this. I don’t remember it being so quiet. So peaceful.
I don’t remember feeling this centered by it. Like a great, fiery ball of hydrogen and helium is the anchor, the reason, the answer I’ve been searching for.
Before my eyes, low-hanging clouds light up, broad smudges of hot pink and soft purple. A golden orb forms a halo around the sun as it inches its way into the sky, eventually becoming bright enough to blind me.
I close my eyes and let it shine on me.
Connor doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t move until I open them.
I look straight into a swirl of sea green and sky blue that is so captivating my breath sticks in my throat.
“So, what do you think? Good, right?” I almost hate the way he smiles when he says it. All-knowing, and kind, and supportive, and shit.
Almost, not quite.
“It was”—I mean to say something snarky at worst, mildly funny at best. I don’t, though, because when I speak, my voice cracks, and to my dismay, I hear myself say—“the best.”
