"Noted for future reference?"
"Already filed away."
"Smart man."
I pointed out more constellations as they came to mind. Pegasus, the winged horse frozen in eternal flight; the winding river of Eridanus; the faint smudge of Andromeda, a whole galaxy hiding in plain sight. I told her how I'd navigated by these stars on solo wilderness treks before GPS made such skills obsolete.
"Rebecca and I used to lie out here for hours," I said, the memory surfacing gently rather than painfully. "After we first moved up here. She'd make up her own constellations. Said the Greeks didn't have a monopoly on star stories."
"What were her constellations?"
"There was one she called the Dancing Bear. And another called the Stubborn Brother." I smiled at the memory. I remembered Rebecca's finger tracing shapes I couldn't see, her laughter when I told her she was making things up. "That one was supposedly me."
"The Stubborn Brother." Emma's voice was warm with amusement. "I can see the resemblance."
"To a constellation?"
"To stubbornness."
Emma was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the river of stars above us. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. It was softer, more vulnerable.
"Lily loved nights like this. She'd drag sleeping bags into our tiny backyard, trying to see stars through the city lights and the smog. She always said she wanted to see the real sky someday. The one you could only find in places untouched by civilization."
"She would have loved this view."
"She would have." Emma's voice caught slightly. "She would have loved all of this. The mountain, the quiet, the way everything feels so vast and peaceful up here." A pause. "She would have liked you too, I think. She always had a thing for grumpy men with hidden depths."
"I have hidden depths?"
"Very well hidden. Practically buried."
I surprised myself by laughing. The sound felt rusty, unfamiliar.
The silence stretched between us again, but it was different now, filled with starlight and ghosts and possibility. I could hear Emma's breathing, soft and slightly uneven. My own pulse was loud in my ears, drowning out the night sounds of the mountain.
I turned my head on the blanket. She was already looking at me, her face pale silver in the starlight, her eyes dark pools reflecting the scattered diamonds above us.
The words came before I could stop them, scraped raw and honest in the quiet.
"I haven't felt this way in a long time. Maybe ever."
Her breath caught audibly. "Scared?"
"Hopeful."
Something shifted in her expression; a softening, a decision being made in real time. Her gaze dropped to my mouth for justa fraction of a second, then back to my eyes. The question was there, written in starlight and shadow.
The answer was there, too.
I leaned toward her slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. Every opportunity to change her mind, to remember all the reasons this was complicated and potentially dangerous.
She closed the distance instead.
The kiss was not a collision but a meeting. Inevitable. Natural. Right. I was painfully aware of Sarah sleeping between us, of the innocence we needed to protect, so I kept it gentle, a whisper rather than a demand. Emma's fingers came up, cool against my stubbled cheek, holding me there like I might disappear.
Her lips were soft. She tasted faintly of apple cider and something sweeter underneath. I felt the kiss in my entire body, a warmth spreading outward from every point of contact, melting ice I hadn't known I was carrying.
When we finally parted, I didn't go far. My forehead rested against hers, our breath mingling in the cold mountain air. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she was smiling.
