Chapter 15 #4
Ridiculously, the darker the sky gets, the more drowsy I become, like I’m a toddler who’s unable to keep their eyes open past 8:00 p.m. I’m just so damn comfortable with my belly full and that perfect coziness that comes from being out in the cooler temperatures under a warm blanket.
When I tip my head back and tuck my hands into my lap, every blink brings me a step closer to sleep.
Shiloh’s and my plates are sitting stacked on the little table between us, empty and practically licked clean of all crumbs.
We’ve long since gone quiet, but it’s not the uncomfortable sort of silence of running out of things to talk about on a first date.
It’s the silence of two people who can find comfort just in the proximity of the other, no words needed; two people who haven’t said it all, but have said enough to ensure ease and familiarity.
I nestle into my chair a little deeper and tug the blanket right up to my chin.
It’s small enough that my feet and ankles pop into view, the fleece tickling my chin as I settle in.
We’re both facing out at the yard, the ocean no longer visible in the distance as the sky darkens to navy and the light fades.
Shiloh turned the lights off inside the last time he stepped into the kitchen, and we’re far enough away from town for the light pollution to be minimal.
When I tip my head back, I can see stars I’d never be able to view from my balcony in LA.
“You can see the aurora from here, right?” I ask Shiloh, voice low.
A cricket chirps somewhere in the dark. I have a moment’s thought for the sort of bugs that might be making their way into Shiloh’s house through that still-open door, but it’s a distant sort of worry. If he doesn’t care, I don’t care.
“Yeah. Two years ago, they were strong a couple times in February. I’ll show you some pictures I took.”
I yawn, muffling the sound with the blanket. It smells like Shiloh, so I keep it there and inhale a couple of times.
“I can’t wait to see them again. It’s been a long time,” I tell him once I’ve sniffed my fill and lifted my face from the blanket far enough to speak. Shiloh is silent next to me, and I’m too sleepy and content to think on it too hard.
We sit out for a long time. Long enough that even with the blanket, I start getting cold again.
Shiloh, too, has to be feeling it, no matter how used to the weather up here he is.
When he quietly stands and gathers our dishes together to bring inside, I’m sad to realize the evening is coming to an end.
It’s been a perfect day, honestly, and I wish I had the power to coerce the moon into staying a little longer and time to move a little slower.
When I hear the soft pad of Shiloh’s feet on the deck, I tip my head against the back of the chair and look up at the dark shape of him above me.
He’s nothing but a Shiloh-shaped silhouette, silver outlining a few of his curves with moonlight. I’d like to try and paint it.
“Tired?” he asks, and only the slight displacement of the hair on the top of my head alerts me to the fact that his fingers are there.
“Little bit.”
A yawn betrays me, earning a soft chuckle from Shiloh.
It also reminds me that, unlike some people—me, namely—he starts the day before even the sun clocks in.
I’m keeping him awake when he likely needs some sleep.
Unearthing my arms from my cozy blanket nest, I gather it up and stand, smiling at Shiloh, even though he probably can’t see much of me in the dark.
He leads the way inside, and a very small, overly hopeful part of me wonders if he’ll invite me to stay the night.
When he offers to drive me home instead, I smile and agree and remind myself who I’m with right now.
Shiloh, who spent years sending me sweet emails and wanted to cook me dinner and touches me like I’m the precious work of art, is a romancer.
Let’s go upstairs and bang is probably not something he’s going to suggest after stargazing.
I find myself dozing off on the drive and am grateful I left the Jeep at his place and agreed to the ride home.
That beer hit me hard, and I’m exhausted.
When he pulls the truck to a stop in front of my sleepy little cottage, I turn to look at him in the bright interior of the cab.
His eyes are so dark they barely seem blue, as though they’re mimicking the way the sky dimmed as the sun fell.
Deciding that I might as well treat this exactly like what it is and be as polite as I usually would on a first date, I say, “Thank you for dinner and the ride. I had a great time.”
“Do you still want to come out on the boat with us in a couple days?” he asks, the movement of his fingers on the gear shift the only outward sign of nerves.
“I’d love to. Will you text me?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” he confirms. I pull his hand over to my side of the vehicle, our fingers a messy tangle as I give him a little squeeze.
“Drive home safe, Shi.”
He waits until I’ve got the front door open and have stepped inside before he pulls the truck away from the curb.
I watch until I can’t see the glow of the taillights.
Kicking off my shoes and locking the door, I yank my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor on my way to the bathroom.
I manage to brush my teeth and lose my jeans before I flop bonelessly onto the mattress and sleep all the way through the night for the first time in years.