Page 47 of June
Finally, he pulled off the road and into a clearing surrounded by low hills and wild grasses, the kind of place that felt untouched—sacred somehow.
And then I saw it. He had set up an entire world.
There, in the quiet cradle of nature, Oh God! It was a blanket of soft pillows and throws—plush and layered in mismatched patterns that looked like they'd been chosen by heart, not a catalogue. Lanterns glowed softly in the corners, flickering like fireflies. A little cooler sat nearby, and beside it, a telescope already aligned with the sky. There were sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, strawberries, dark chocolate, and a thermos I wasreallyhoping was full of hot cocoa.
"Liam," I breathed.
He was leaning against the car, watching me with that soft expression I was starting to know well. Like I was the thing he'd come to see, not the stars.
"I thought you deserved a night that didn't ask anything from you. Just gave."
My heart ached in the best way.
"You did all this?"
He shrugged, but his eyes sparkled. "I told you. Astronomer by day, hopeless romantic by cosmic compulsion."
I laughed, full and warm. "You forgot baker."
"Oh, there's crumble in the cooler," he added casually. "Interstellar flavor profile, obviously."
I walked toward the blanket, toeing off my shoes and sitting down slowly, letting the silence wash over me. Crickets hummed in the distance, and above us, the stars were blooming—delicate and infinite.
He joined me, not too close, not too far. Just enough space to let me breathe, but enough warmth to remind me he was there. For a moment, I didn't feel broken or haunted by the past. I just feltseen.
The sky stretched above us, and I tilted my face to it, feeling the gravity shift—not around the Earth, but around us. Around this.
"Ready to meet the universe?" he asked, lifting the telescope lens with a boyish grin.
The desert night unfolded like a velvet tapestry, the air crisp and filled with the scent of sagebrush. Liam stood beside me, his presence both comforting and exhilarating. He adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the starlight, and gestured toward the sky.
"Look," he said, barely above a whisper, like he didn't want to wake the sky.
His voice curled around me like soft velvet, warm and sure.
I followed the angle of his hand, and there it was— a silver crescent, cradled between constellations, glowing with the kind of softness that only comes after surviving the dark.
"That's the Moon in Gemini," he murmured, his words slow, reverent, as if naming something sacred. "Curiosity. Communication. A season of stories and second chances. And... unexpected connections."
I turned to him then— the stargazer and the scientist, the boy with galaxies in his mouth
and patience in his hands.
"Unexpected connections, huh?" I said, lips curling. "Like this one?"
He didn't look away. He held my gaze like it was a compass.
"Exactly."
The world hushed around us. Only the soft hush of wind through mesquite branches, and the heartbeat of the desert pulsing like it knew something was unfolding here— something stitched together by silence, by stardust, by the impossible nearness of now.
He shifted closer, our arms brushing— a spark, a flutter, the kind of touch that asks rather than takes.
"You know," I whispered, my voice trembling on the edge of wonder,"this feels like somethingout of a dream."
He smiled, slow and steady, like sunrise climbing the back of night. "Then let's make it a reality."
His hand hovered near mine—tentative, tender— like he was asking permission from the stars themselves. I gave it. Our fingers laced—warmth meeting warmth— and everything stilled.
