Chapter 11 #2
As our laughter fades, I become acutely aware of how close we are. In the starlight, Rhianna’s eyes seem to hold galaxies of their own. The air between us crackles like a storm is brewing but the skies are perfectly clear.
A light streaks the sky, breaking the moment. Rhianna gasps and points. “It’s starting!”
Another gleaming streak of light soars across the heavens, and I release a breath. “Meteors?”
“Yes,” she whispers, her face lifted toward the heavens, her skin bathed in moonlight. When another meteor bursts across the darkness she reaches for my hand. I embrace her smooth fingers, my pulse racing at the touch.
Over the next fifteen minutes, more follow, painting bright arcs across the dark. But I find my gaze drawn more and more to Rhianna. The wonder on her face, the pure joy in her eyes—it’s more breathtaking than any celestial display.
“Eli,” she whispers, turning to me as a grin slides up her face. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
I look at her—really look at her—illuminated by starlight, eyes shining, a strand of sky-dark hair falling across her cheek.
Staring for a moment too long at her mouth, I wonder how she'd taste if I closed the distance between us—if she'd lean in, if she'd let me. My pulse quickens at the thought. But even if she wouldn't, I'd still choose to be here watching joy spread over her face as stars streak the skies above us. Suddenly I know with absolute certainty that I’ve fallen for her. It’s not a maybe anymore. It’s a definite, irrefutable fact.
“No,” I whisper back, my eyes never leaving her face. “I haven’t.”
Something in my tone must give me away because her smile falters, replaced by a look of… anticipation? Fear? Hope? I’m not sure.
Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, I lean in.
Her eyes flutter closed as our lips meet.
The world falls away. Maybe a thousand more lights rush above us, but I see none of them.
There’s only Rhianna—the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her hand in mine, the faint scent of her perfume, and the taste of cherry ChapStick.
When we finally part, we’re both a little breathless. Rhianna’s eyes open slowly and her brows pull together. “Eli,” she whispers, “what are we doing?”
I take a deep breath, my heart pounding.
The words I want to say—about how watching her tonight made me realize I’m already rethinking my plans—stick in my throat.
I've seen her hesitation, heard her jokes about avoiding serious relationships, and watched her careful dance away from commitment.
And maybe I'm careening toward heartbreak, but I'd take it if it means even another day with Rhianna Wilder. So, I offer what I hope she can accept. “We don’t have to define it,” I whisper, my voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves.
“No pressure, no expectations. What if we just… explore whatever this is? Like another adventure?”
There’s a pause of time where the wind howls and an owl hoots. I’m terrified Rhianna is going to say no. Terrified that even this carefully casual suggestion will send her running.
The thought of her rejection makes my chest ache. Three weeks of late nights planning this tour, of shared meals and stolen glances, of watching her step into rooms and gather everyone’s attention—it’s changed something in me.
I’ve never been the type for casual relationships.
The Type A in me wants everything catalogued, organized, defined.
But for Rhianna… for the chance to be with her, even temporarily, I’d rewrite every rule I’ve ever lived by.
Maybe it’s foolish to hope that ‘exploring things’ could grow into something more, but after tonight—after seeing how she brings magic into everything she touches—I can’t help but hope.
“I’m not a serious-relationship person, Eli.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “I like you too much to lead you along and make you believe this could go somewhere. And you don’t exactly strike me as the casual type.”
I nod, heart still pounding, but keep my tone light. “I’m not usually.” A beat passes and I chuckle. “But I’m trying new things, remember?”
She hesitates, and I can see the war waging behind her eyes—the fear of hurting me or perhaps of getting too close.
And maybe I’m a fool, but I’d risk it all for Rhianna.
Even just for a few more weeks of holding her hands and listening to her dreams. My heart is already hers.
Risking it feels inevitable. Almost easy.
So I lean in, just enough that my whispered words barely rise above the hush of the breeze.
“If you’re even considering this, just know—if or when you’re ready to call it quits, I’ll respect it.
No guilt. No pressure. You say you’re done, then we’re done.
” I give her a small smile. “Until then… maybe we just explore this. See where it goes? Just for now?”
There’s another long pause. Rhianna doesn’t look away, but something shifts in her expression. Her lips pinch, just slightly. Her eyes flicker, like she’s replaying every reason she’s told herself this is a bad idea. Like she’s weighing the risk, counting the cost.
I want to tell her it’s okay. That she doesn’t owe me anything. But I can’t make myself say it because if she turns me down right now, I think it might break something in me.
My stomach churns, every second stretching out like it’s trying to teach me patience. Or humility. Or the precursor work for heartbreak.
This is so miserable it could almost count as bold move number three. If only it didn’t also feel so terrifyingly natural.
Then slowly, Rhianna’s lips curve into a smile. “You know what, I’d like that.”
Relief floods through me, so sharp and sudden it almost makes me feel dizzy. She said yes. Not to forever, not to something defined. But to this. To me. Hope unfurls in my chest like a lit match, fragile and flickering but real.
This time, she’s the one who leans in, her soft hands grazing down my jaw then sliding down my neck. Her mouth is warm and sweet and I’m pretty sure the entire purpose of my three bold choices was this moment, this woman.
When we finally break apart, we’re both grinning like fools.
Her hair is wild in the wind, dancing with the stars.
I reach over as I’ve longed to do a hundred times and tuck strands back.
She smiles up at me, glitter still clinging to her cheeks from her ghost makeup, and it nearly undoes me.
I know what we agreed to. This isn’t forever.
I made that clear. The moment it stops feeling right, she’ll walk, and I’ll honor what I said. No pressure. No expectations.
But right now, under the meteor-streaked sky, with her eyes shining like I’m the only thing she sees, I decide some things are still worth the risk.
“So,” I say, “does this mean you’ll be my Blue Moon Festival date?”
She huffs a laugh. "Well, I gave you a scout's honor, so I guess I'm committed. Besides, my matchmaking service hasn't exactly been flooded with clients. You're still the only brave soul who signed up."
Signing up for that might have been the most important decision I've ever made in my life.
I'd wanted to throw up. I wanted to run away.
But I didn't. And now I sit beside the most beautiful, charismatic, magical woman I've ever met in my life.
.. someone who makes me feel as explosively alive as the stars streaking the sky.
But I somehow know those words are too much.
So I reply to her joke about giving a scout's honor instead.
“I’d hate for you to break the years of scouting and commitment behind those words.” My smile feels ridiculous. Piper would tease me until next year if she saw it. “Should we head back?”
Rhianna stands with me and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. “Lead the way, Lancaster.”
We make our way down the slope, hand in hand, stealing glances and sharing soft laughs. It feels surreal, like a dream I don’t want to wake up from.
As we reach the bottom, Rhianna's steps slow. She turns to me, her expression shifting to something more serious, more deliberate. She reaches into her bag and carefully pulls out two books, handling them over with reverence.
"These are for you," she says softly, extending them toward me. "I've been waiting for the right moment tonight to give them to you. They're yours to keep."
There's a weight to her words, a significance that tells me this isn't some casual offering. The way her fingers linger on the covers before fully releasing them to me speaks volumes about what these books must mean to her.
I take them. The first is a colorful paperback that gleams in Rhianna’s flashlight beam. A woman builds a snowman on the cover and a scowling man leans against his snow shovel. “A man-written-by-a-woman romance novel, I presume?”
“There’s no elevator in that one, but I think you’ll like it.”
“If I remember correctly, I’m supposed to read it as my manual on how women like to be treated, no?”
She blushes. Even in the low light the color is visible. I want to reach out and feel her skin’s warmth under my fingers but it feels like too much.
“I was exaggerating a bit,” she says.
“Seagulls do not a romantic date make. I remember that much, at least.”
She laughs. “That’s right. Okay, next book.”
I slide the paperback behind the second. My breath catches. It’s a beautifully bound copy of Cyrus Whitlock’s Welsh Gods and Goddesses. By the weight and material’s feel it’s a first edition, too—one I don’t even own. It was such a limited print run that few copies remain.
I blink, stunned.
I trace my fingers over the embossed title, the gold still vibrant against the worn spine. It’s perfect. So perfect it doesn’t feel real. Mark would’ve lost his mind over even getting to hold this book and Rhianna just handed it to me.
Tonight has felt like all the magic in Magnolia Cove has gathered just for us. It seems possible that this enchantment could extend to finding a long-lost signed copy. My fingers tremble slightly as I pull back the cover.
No signature greets me. Instead there’s floral fabric paper for bookends which significantly drops the value.
Perhaps it’s not a first edition after all.
Maybe someone found a cheaper print and rebound it.
It’s been known to happen. I’m not disappointed, though.
Instead, my attention shifts to a delicate bookmark peeking out from the pages.
I flip to the marked section. Rhiannon: The Enigmatic Goddess of the Moon.
As I scan the pages, I notice delicate handwriting in the margins—elegant script with little drawings, hearts, and notations.
I run my fingers over the ink, feeling the slight indentation where someone pressed their thoughts into permanence.
I've always loved books with character like this—the ones that carry traces of their previous owners.
There's something magical about a well-loved book, how it becomes more than just the text between its covers but a collection of memories, a catalog of all the readers who came before, their thoughts and reactions preserved alongside the author's words.
Each note, each dog-eared page, each smudge or stain tells a story of its own.
I look up at Rhianna who’s biting her lip. “Did I match you with the right book?”
I look down at the beautifully preserved copy of my favorite author’s work.
I smile. It's not just any mythology chapter she's marked, but the one about Rhiannon—the goddess she shares a name with, the very topic that sparked our first real conversation that day in the library. The coincidence seems too perfect to be accidental, like the universe or something older and quieter is nudging our stories into alignment. I’m not one to believe in fate. But holding this book in my hands after everything that’s led me here…
It makes me wonder. Maybe this risk won’t end the way I expect.
Maybe, just this once, something uncertain could still turn into something true.
“You couldn’t have chosen a more perfect copy. ”
She jumps up and down on her toes, her flashlight bobbing with the motion.
I want to laugh. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her again.
I want to tell her how much her joy seeps into me and I think it’s changing me.
Filling me up like coffee spreading its warmth into a thermos.
Making me want to say big things she’s not ready to hear—things like, “Maybe I shouldn’t move back” and “How does forever sound?”
But I know better. Agreeing to a ‘no commitments’ exploration does not a promise of the future make—no matter how hopeful I’m feeling. So I tuck those dangerous thoughts away, file them somewhere between wishful thinking and maybe someday.
I close the book gently, already knowing it’s going on the shelf for my most treasured editions. “Thank you, Rhianna. This is… incredible. You’re incredible.”
She steps closer. “I mean, maybe I’m not as incredible as a moon goddess or a song by the world’s best soft-rock band?”
“You’re never going to let me live that one down, huh?”
She takes another step then presses up on tiptoe to whisper against my lips. “Never.”
I chuckle and wrap my arms around her waist. “Rhianna Wilder, you’re better than any genre-defying band I’ve ever heard.”
Her laughter vibrates through me as she presses her lips to mine.
For the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about a to-do list or scholarly pursuits.
I’m thinking about the future, about possibilities, about the adventure of falling for this woman who turned an entire town into a stage tonight, who makes everything feel magical. For the moment, I couldn’t be happier.
However there’s a whisper in the back of my mind.
Only a few months left.
I shiver at the realization. A few months to explore whatever this is, a few months until I have to return to my real life, my career, my carefully planned future.
A few months to convince her that maybe some adventures are worth staying for.
But then I push those thoughts away—tonight is about meteors and folklore and first kisses. Tomorrow can worry about itself.
I give myself over to Rhianna’s kiss, the taste of sweet ChapStick, and the quiet promise of possibilities lingering between us.