I glance at the water, dark and glittering under the moonlight. “Honestly? Pine Island.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I know it’s not exotic, but it feels like... home. Like it’s holding its breath just long enough for you to exhale. I always feel safer here. Like I’m not being watched or evaluated or expected to perform.”
He nods thoughtfully. “There’s something to be said for safe places.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What’s your favorite?”
“I visited Iceland once,” he says. “That place messes with your sense of time. It’s daylight for hours, and then when night finally comes, it’s thick and endless.”
“That sounds kind of magical.”
“It was.”
I steal a glance at him. His profile is serious, bathed in silver light.
“What about your dream vacation?” he asks.
“That one’s easy,” I say. “Pizza, wine, art supplies, and a long walk somewhere. Basically… tonight. Just with fewer emotional landmines.”
He chuckles. “Well, I’m glad I could help with the itinerary.”
We keep walking, and a stretch of silence falls between us—not awkward, just full. The kind of silence I rarely share with people, even the ones I know well.
I tilt my face up to the stars. “Okay, astronaut,” I say. “Name those constellations. Prove you’re not just a very charming liar.”
He grins and points his finger toward the sky. “All right. That’s Lyra, with Vega—brightest one up there. And if you go up a little you’ll see Albireo, the bright star at the bottom of Cygnus, the swan. Then follow that line to the right, and you’ll see Deneb—bright one at the top. You’ll also notice that Cygnus looks like a cross, which is another name for it—the Northern Cross. Finally, if you go back to Lyra, then up some and to the left you’ll find Aquila, the eagle.”
I blink. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Okay, I kind of thought you were full of it.”
“Understandable. Most people lie in bars.”
I glance at him. “You included?”
He smiles, but it’s softer this time. “Well, yes. But I really do like outer space a lot.”
I look back up at the sky and search out the constellations he was showing me, content to let him keep his secrets since I’m doing the same. The stars don’t seem so far away with him naming them like that. They feel closer, almost reachable. I can’t remember the last time I was this quiet with someone, this comfortable. The thought hits me like a rogue wave, and for asecond, I want to pull away. Make a joke. Say something cutting just to put space back between us.
But then Zachary breaks the moment. “Surf’s rough tonight,” he says, nodding toward the water. “Have you heard about the hurricane?”
I shake my head, grateful for the change in topic.
“There’s a warning,” he continues. “It’s still off the coast, but they’re saying it might be a big one. Could hit the mainland by the weekend.”
“Yikes. I just planted a bunch of new flowers in the spring. Oh, well. I probably would have killed them myself even without the hurricane anyway,” I say with a sigh.
He laughs. “Better enjoy the calm while it lasts. And bring any plants you can inside.”
We walk a little farther until the crowds from the bar have thinned and the houses are fewer. Then Zachary stops and gestures away from the water. “Want to sit back on the dunes?”
“Sure,” I say.
We climb a sand dune and lower ourselves to the sand, sitting close enough to feel the building heat between us. For a moment, we just sit, staring out at the dark waves in the distance. Then, his hand brushes mine.
