Curious, I ask, “What’s that?”
“Sweetened, warm fruit tea,” he reveals with a wink.
I take the bottle from him and take a tentative sip. The warm liquid is comforting, and I hum in delight. “That’s perfect.”
He grins, reclaiming the bottle to take a sip himself. “Told you.” After putting it away, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. The shared warmth and his presence chase the remaining chill away.
And makes my heart beat a little faster.
“Better?” he asks, his voice low and close.
“Much,” I affirm, leaning into him.
This is something friends do, right? Cuddle for warmth.
Misha lies down on the blanket and gently pulls me down beside him so my head rests on his upper arm. He smells likewalking into a greenhouse full of leafy plants or overturned dirt in the early spring after a light rain.
I love it.
Drawing me closer, I let go and snuggle in just as his soothing voice whispers, “I’m sorry you’re cold, but it will get better in a minute when the sun comes up.”
“In a minute? It’s still dark,” I protest, skeptical of his optimistic timing.
“I know. We were faster than I thought we would be. You’re fit,” he comments, offering a smile. He points up at the sky. “See, Venus, the morning star, is already on the horizon. That means the sunrise isn’t far away.”
“You’re into star stuff now?” I tease, following his gaze to the twinkling lights above.
“My father loves astronomy. Back in Greece, the stars were much brighter and more visible, and we went out to go stargazing a lot,” he explains.
“Do you miss Greece?” I ask with a yawn, cuddling some more into his warmth and making the jacket rustle.
“Not really. We came to the States twenty years ago. Everything felt so much cooler, bigger, and newer. I loved the sweets and the music. Music is actually how I learned the language,” he shares.
“Where is your family now?”
“They’re back in Philly.”
“Philadelphia?” I turn a little to look up at him. “That’s far.”
“Not as far as London,” he points out, snickering.
I decide not to pursue that thread. “Do you miss them?”
“Of course I do. But it’s fine. Like I said, there’s a lot going on there. I love to FaceTime them, but it’s… maybe I overdosed on family,” he admits.
“What does that mean?” I press, intrigued by his choice of words.
“I don’t know,” Misha sighs. “I had to share everything my whole life. There wasn’t enough attention to go around. Being the middle child, I always felt left out and overlooked. It’s hard to feel like you have to make everybody happy when at the same time you feel like you aren’t important enough to get the same in return.”
“Misha…” I trail off, my words hushed in the quiet around us.
What do you say to something like this?
You’re important to me.
“Studies have shown that it is like that sometimes,” he quips with a wry smile, but his eyes tell me this goes deeper than he lets on. “My therapist says I like taking care of people because it heals the part of me that needed someone to take care of me. Sometimes, having a big heart sucks.”
“You’re not in charge of everyone else’s happiness,” I remind him gently.
