Chapter 12 #2
It’s all set up: blankets, pillows, an extra-thick foam pad I cut down to fit. A little island of softness and warmth under the enormous dome of sky.
I gently set her down onto it, and she pulls her knees into her chest, looking around. “What is all this for?” she breathes.
“There’s a meteor shower tonight,” I say. “This is the perfect spot to see it.”
I climb in on the other side of her and arrange the pillows so we’re propped against the cab, our legs stretched out. I pull my mom’s big denim quilt over us, then a fluffy down comforter, tucking everything around her like she’s precious cargo.
“Just a few more things,” I say, tugging a pink knit hat over her head. Then I pull out a pair of fuzzy pink gloves and put them on her hands, tugging each finger into place as she stares at me, eyes wide.
“You always carry a pink hat and gloves with you?” she says.
“Bought ‘em earlier today—but really, it’s for selfish reasons. See, if you get cold, I’ll have to take you home, and I don’t want to miss the meteor shower.”
Then, I hand her a thermos of hot cocoa. She takes it, lips parting like she’s lost the ability to speak. She looks adorably cozy in the hat and gloves, with the blanket tucked under her armpits. Her eyes are shining, her cheeks flushed, little wisps of dark hair escaping the hat.
“God, you’re pretty.” The words slip out of me before I can stop them, soft and unguarded.
She glances at me, almost dazed. “You know, I already want to sleep with you. You didn’t need to do all this.”
My chest tightens. I’m not sure which part bothers me more: that she assumes that’s my only motivation here, or that she can’t imagine she’s worth the effort for any other reason. “Maybe that’s not what I’m after tonight. You ever think of that?”
Her eyebrows lift. “Then what are you after?”
Truth is, I don’t know how to explain it.
Maybe it started as a way to prove that I’m different from the way I once was, to see how it’d feel to slow things down for once, but it’s become more than that.
I know it has to do with the way I felt when I saw her crying in the window, and it grew even stronger tonight when I watched her in the town square.
Now I’ve got all these feelings jumbled up inside me, feelings I’ve never had before.
I can’t even begin to untangle them, let alone put them into words.
All I know is that something is shifting, and it has to do with her.
“I’d love to just…hang out tonight,” I say eventually. “Would that be okay?”
Her face goes soft. “Of course.”
Relief settles on my shoulders. Before she can say anything else, I twist around to the other side and pull out the white bakery box I stashed there. “I thought about buying enough for the whole town, but my mom was so excited about making the food for tonight—”
“It was all wonderful,” she cuts in, nodding.
“Yes, but…” I swallow, suddenly nervous. “I also wanted you to have something more traditional.”
I hand her the box, and she opens the lid. She stares, her lips parting, but no sound comes out. My heart feels like a hummingbird trapped in my chest. Did I screw this up?
“I—I read that this is a traditional Hanukkah dessert. Sufganiyot, I think?” I stumble a little over the unfamiliar word. “Sorry if I got it wrong—”
“You didn’t get it wrong,” she says quietly.
“Then…what is it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she lifts one of the pastries from the box and takes a slow bite, eyes fluttering shut as she chews and swallows.
“So good,” she says, licking her lips. “My bubbe—my grandma—used to buy these every year. It’s wild how food can drop you right back into a memory, like I’m sitting at her dining room table again. ”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “My Grandma McKay used to make shortbread every Christmas—flaky, buttery, basically irresistible. After she died, my sister Bianca started making them, and whenever I eat them, I can practically hear Grandma hassling me to stand up straight, elbows off the table, and say please and thank you, Jonathan!”
Laughing softly, she brushes sugar from her gloved fingertips. “It’s like every time you make the recipe, you’re carrying them forward. The loved ones you lost. Adding your own layer to what they gave you.”
“Exactly.”
She smiles, holding the pastry out to me. “Want a taste?”
I nod, and she brings the pastry to my mouth so I can take a bite. “Delicious,” I say, swallowing. “Kind of like a jelly-filled doughnut.”
“You’ve got a little something,” she says, pointing to the corner of her mouth.
I hold her gaze. “You'd better get it for me.”
Her eyes glint with mischief as she takes one glove off. Then she leans closer, brushing away the smear of jam at the corner of my mouth with her thumb. But instead of pulling back, her thumb lingers, tracing a slow line across my lower lip. The world goes still.
On instinct, I draw her thumb between my teeth. My tongue finds the sweetness, tasting sugar and her skin. She inhales sharply as my teeth and tongue slide against her thumb, sucking gently before releasing her.
Then she glances up, gasping. “Look!”
I follow her gaze and catch a streak of light cutting across the dark sky.
A couple of seconds later, there’s another.
We huddle closer, my arm around her and her head settling against my shoulder.
The night air is cool, but the space between us seems to glow.
Every time she spots another shooting star, she points it out, her voice so full of wonder I can’t help smiling.
The ache in my chest swells—sweet and heavy. I wish the world could stop, that we could stay in this little bubble of warmth, like we’re the only two people in the universe.
The cocoa goes cold. The pastries are forgotten. Above us, the sky keeps spilling its stars, and we stay there wrapped together, two small figures beneath a galaxy of light.