He shakes his head, then says in a low voice, “For the record, I didn’t want you doing it because watching you was too much of a distraction.”
Goosebumps cover my arms—at his words or his closeness, I’m not sure. “Sounds like a you problem.”
His throat works as his eyes alternate between mine. “Indeed, it is.”
“Eli, let the poor woman get to her fire-making,” Charlie shouts.
He steps back with his hands raised in defense, leaving me to go outside by myself. Frankly, I wouldn’t have minded his help—I haven’t built a fire since I moved to the city—but I wasn’t about to admit it, and after a few tries, it finally catches. I call everyone out, and Eli brings out a jumbo bag of marshmallows. I’m pretty sure he got it knowing I can go through a regular bag by myself.
The fire is small and remains shaky throughout the evening, and no one dares say a word about it. We pass the bag of marshmallows around the circle, taking turns roasting them over sticks we found in the wood surrounding the cottage.
Charlie picks at her melted marshmallow with two fingers, trying to unstick it from her branch. “Isn’t it weird how we’re always so careful to thoroughly clean everything we eat with, but when itcomes to marshmallows, we just grab random branches full of dirt and call it a day?”
“Risking salmonella is part of the thrill,” I say, watching a flame latch to my treat, turning its edges brown, then black.
Eli leans over and blows a strong breath, extinguishing the flame. “You know you don’t have to worry the local firefighters every time you toast a marshmallow, right?”
“I like mine to taste like pure soot. Sue me.” I bite into the crispy, charcoal-colored sides of it and hum in pleasure. Pure, summery perfection. Some of the marshmallow drips onto my finger, which I lick before it can stick. When I turn to my right, I find Eli’s gaze stuck on me, dark as the lake before us. Heat covers my body, and it has nothing to do with the shaky fire.
I grab one last marshmallow to grill and catch Charlie over the fire mouthing, “Eye fucking.” I roll my eyes, but honestly, I can’t really deny it. The way he was staring at me did make me feel like he was undressing me in his mind.
“All right, Zoe Bear, time for bed,” Eli says, standing to pick up Zoe who’s already half-asleep on one of the camping chairs.
“I’ll take her,” Charlie says, grabbing her niece from his arms. “I’m tired, too.” She throws me a wink then walks inside. Eli doesn’t resist for once, reclaiming his seat next to mine on the flat boulder that doubles as a bench, covered by an afghan that kept our bottoms warm.
This is the first time we’ve been truly alone since that night in his bedroom, and while nothing’s changed, everything has. We can’tbrush this off as simple friendship. You don’t kiss someone you feel nothing for like that. Like you’ll die if you don’t taste them.
But everything I told Charlie earlier was true; itiscomplicated. No matter how much we could want it to work, it can’t last.
Light waves lap at the sandy shore of the lake, reflecting the flickering flames and the stars that speckle it like a million infinitesimal diamonds. My neck hurts from looking up, so I scoot off the rock and lie on the humid sand.
“Don’t you want a blanket for that?” Eli asks even though he’s already joining me.
“I probably ingested a few bugs and pieces of dirt from my stick just now. I think I can handle lying on the ground.”
He chuckles, then exhales as he looks up, too, not in fatigue but in awe.
The Milky Way paints the sky like melted butter, while the Big Dipper and Little Dipper—the only two constellations I know how to recognize—are so bright, it feels like I could reach out and touch them.
“My father was the one who taught me how to spot the Dippers as big saucepans in the sky,” I say. It’s one of the first memories I have. Dad, with his hair not peppered with gray yet, pointing at the sky and telling me about them, like he was an astrologist, and he was sharing this secret with me. “For years, I thought there was actual kitchenware in the sky.” I wrap my arms around my chest. “I wish I could go back to a time when I could be this naive,” I say.
“Do you really?”
It sounds simple at first. Jumping back to a time when I didn’t know how little control we have over our own futures? How holding on tightly to people won’t make them stay, and how you can’t erase where you came from, even if you change your name and move away? It’d be nice to have this bliss, even for a second. But then, it would also mean going back to a time when I had to endure what people said and did to me without being able to leave and build a life I could, if not love, then at least like.
“I don’t know,” is what I answer.
He hums, and we return to our stargazing, the fire crackling behind us, frogs croaking distantly. The scent of smoke blends with the citrus of Eli’s shampoo and the musk and brine of the lake. The air has cooled since this afternoon, and the humid wind makes me shudder.
“You cold?” Eli asks.
I shrug.
“Come here.” He lifts one arm to create a cozy nook for me to crawl into. It sounds like an excuse to touch me if I’ve ever heard one, and honestly, I would be stupid to say no to that. It feels like a silent boundary has been crossed, and we’re both okay with it. I shift to my left, immediately comforted by the warmth of his body that’s better than any weighted blanket I’ve ever tried. My temple leans on the side of his torso, his bicep under my neck and fingers carelessly draped across my shoulder, tickling me with each movement. It feels as if my entire nervous system has been rerouted to the spots where his body touches mine.
“This would be a good time to show off your astronomy skills and describe the sky to charm me.”
“Sadly, I wasn’t sure what you meant with your Dippers until you mentioned the saucepans.”
