Flashback
Claire (Age 18)
The night air is warm, pressing softly against my skin as I step out onto the porch. Somewhere down the road, an engine idles low, barely there, like it’s trying not to wake anyone. I don’t bother checking the time. I already know.
Ethan’s truck sits at the curb with the headlights off, the dashboard glowing faintly inside. He’s leaning forward, elbows on the steering wheel, waiting. When I open the passenger door, the interior light flicks on, illuminating his face for just a second, his lashes, the curve of his smile before he reins it in.
“You were awake?” he whispers, like this is something secret we’re stealing.
“I am now,” I say, grinning as I slide in and pull the door shut.
The truck hums as he pulls away from the curb, careful, slow. The windows are already down, warm air rushing in, carryingthe scent of pine and dust and summer. It’s the kind of night that feels suspended, like the world is holding its breath.
He glances at me, that crooked smile tugging at his mouth. The one that always feels like it’s meant just for me.
“Come on,” he says. “I want to show you something.”
The radio plays softly, something familiar, something we both half-know the words to. We don’t sing. We never do. It’s enough just to be here, the hum of the engine beneath us, my knee brushing his every time the road curves.
The town slips away gradually, streetlights thinning out, houses giving way to open stretches of road. I watch the glow of the dashboard light his hands on the steering wheel. One hand taps in time with the music. The other rests easy, relaxed, like he’s not carrying the weight of the future the way everyone keeps telling us we should.
“Where are we going?” I ask, even though part of me hopes he won’t say.
He glances at me again. “You’ll see.”
The road narrows. Trees close in. The sky opens up above us, huge and dark and crowded with stars. I tilt my head back against the seat, watching them streak past through the windshield, feeling small in the best way.
Then the lake appears, sudden and quiet, like it’s been waiting.
Ethan pulls over near the grass and kills the engine. The silence settles instantly, deep and complete, broken only by the chirr of insects and the distant lap of water against shore.
He gets out first and circles around, offering me his hand. It’s such a simple thing, but my chest tightens anyway.
I take it.
His palm is warm, rougher than mine, familiar. He helps me down the slight slope toward the water and doesn’t let go right away. I don’t pull my hand back.
“Look,” he says softly.
The lake stretches out before us, perfectly still. The stars scatter across its surface, reflected so clearly it feels like we’re standing between two skies. I inhale, slow and deep, like I might be able to take the moment into my lungs and keep it there.
“Ethan,” I whisper.
He smiles, satisfied but gentle. “Told you.”
We sit at the edge, shoes kicked off, toes brushing the cool grass. Our shoulders touch. Not accidentally. Not quite intentionally either. Just close enough to feel the heat of him, to feel how his breathing changes when mine does.
He picks up stones and skips them across the water. Each one hops and skids like it knows what it’s doing. When I try, mine sinks straight down with a quiet plunk.
He laughs, not loud, not teasing. Just warm. Real.
I bump his shoulder with mine. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not,” he says immediately. “I swear.” Then, after a beat, quieter, “I just… like being out here with you.”
The words settle between us, heavier than they should be for something so simple.
I turn to look at him. He’s already watching me. The stars reflect faintly in his eyes, and for a second, it feels like the rest of the world has stepped back to give us room.
