“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this many stars,” she murmured.
Wes got out and leaned one shoulder against the truck beside her. “You used to make me drive out here when we were in high school.”
She looked at him, surprised into a small laugh. “No, I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I did not.”
“You said shooting stars didn’t appear over town because of light pollution.”
“That sounds scientifically valid, honestly.”
A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Rowan looked back toward the sky, warmth brushing unexpectedly through the tightness in her chest. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“You made everybody sit in silence for twenty minutes because you said talking scared them away.” Wes’s words curled with humor.
Rowan smiled. “That part I remember.”
“I’m pretty sure Naomi threatened to leave.”
“She always had the attention span of a fruit fly.” She shrugged.
Wes huffed a quiet laugh.
Then, as if the memory itself had pulled it into existence, a streak of white crossed the sky above them. The sight was fast and bright and gone almost instantly.
Rowan caught her breath. “No way.”
Wes looked up just as the trail faded.
For one suspended second, neither of them spoke.
Then Wes glanced at her. “You still make wishes on those?”
Rowan smiled, but something deeper moved underneath it now. Sadness maybe. Or longing.
“I think somewhere along the way I stopped believing wishes brought about change,” she murmured.
Wes studied her before saying, “Maybe you just started wishing for the wrong things.”
The words landed harder than she expected.
The mountains went quiet around them again.
For the first time since she’d come back to Virginia, Rowan felt something dangerous stir beneath all the fear and exhaustion.
Not safety.
Something she trusted even less.
Hope.
Then she glanced back at Wes again.
He was watching her, patient and unhurried, the way he’d always had. Waiting for her to be ready to talk to him without making her feel the wait.
