The admission surprised us both, I think. Eric's eyebrows rose slightly, and I realized I'd revealed more about my romantic history—or lack thereof—than I'd intended. There was something liberating about acknowledging that neither of us was operating from a position of expertise.
Above us, the meteor shower continued its performance, streaks of light appearing and disappearing with the kind of cosmic indifference that made human concerns seem trivial.
Eric broke the silence. "So what do we do now?"
I considered the question, weighing it against everything I knew about my capacity for disappointment and his inevitable departure in two weeks. The smart answer would have been to pull back and treat this as a moment of temporary insanity brought on by starlight and bourbon-laced hot chocolate.
Instead, I gave an answer that implied a future for our connection. "We figure it out as we go."
Eric offered a peek into his history. "I've dated a couple of college girls. Nothing serious. Nice enough, but it's always felt like I was performing a role someone else wrote for me. No solid connection."
The pressure to follow expected scripts was familiar.
He continued to share. "There was one guy. He was an online coding partner. We talked for hours about everything except programming. There was this moment when we finally met in person at a coffee shop, and I thought maybe something might happen, but I got scared. Didn't feel safe enough to find out what he might want."
I wondered what might have been different for him if he'd felt secure enough to take the risk and discover whether the connection he'd sensed was real or imagined.
He took a deep breath. "What about you?"
I considered whether or not to respond. When our eyes met again, I couldn't back out. "There was a teammate. Senior year ofhigh school. Derek's friend, actually. A kid named Dale Hutchins who played left wing and had hands that could make a puck do impossible things."
Eric was perfectly still, and his attention encouraged me to continue.
"It happened after practice one night when everyone else cleared out. Started as just fooling around, you know? Testing boundaries." I stared up at the stars. "It was all wrong. Secretive and shameful and desperate. Like we were committing a crime instead of discovering something about ourselves."
Eric reached for my hand in the darkness, fingers intertwining with a gentleness that suggested he understood the difference between that fumbling encounter and what was happening between us now.
"That was seventeen years ago," I said quietly. "You were barely in kindergarten."
Eric's grip on my hand tightened. "So?"
"So, maybe you should be with someone who hasn't measured his romantic experience in decades. Someone who didn't already have his shot at happiness and blow it."
He was quiet momentarily, then let out a soft, affectionate laugh. "You know what I was doing in kindergarten seventeen years ago?"
"Eric—"
"Learning to tie my shoes and probably eating paste. Real quality romantic experience there." He shifted onto his side to face me fully. "And you want to know what I think about your blown shot at happiness?"
I waited.
"I think happiness isn't some limited-time offer that expires when you hit thirty. Maybe—and this is just a wild theory from someone who wasn't even in kindergarten yet—maybe your firstshot wasn't supposed to work out because it wasn't actually your shot."
He rubbed my knuckles with his thumb. "Maybe seventeen years ago, some scared kid had a fumbling encounter that taught him something important about what he didn't want. And maybe tonight, a grumpy thirty-five-year-old hermit is lying under the stars with someone who sees exactly who he is and likes him anyway."
He grinned, and in the starlight, I saw an expression that made him look like he was sharing secrets with the universe. "Besides, if you think I'm going to let thirteen years and some spectacularly bad timing scare me off, you haven't been paying attention. I'm the guy who showed up on your island, threw coffee on your boots, and refused to leave you alone, remember? I'm relentless."
He took my hand and guided it to his chest, pressing my palm flat against his thermal shirt directly over his heart.
The surprise must have shown on my face because Eric's mouth curved into a soft smile. "What?"
My hand began to move of its own accord, fingers spreading to explore the territory he'd offered. Even through the thermal fabric, his skin was warm. His breathing quickened as I traced the line of his collarbone. When my thumb brushed across a nipple, Eric gasped, making my pulse race.
We kissed again, and Eric reached for the front of my jacket, working his fingers inside to explore my chest.
We leaned into each other, slow and unsure but wanting more. Eric's fingers traced the line of my ribs, and I discovered that the soft sound he made when I kissed the corner of his mouth was something I wanted to hear again.
When Eric's hand slipped beneath the hem of my thermal shirt, I realized I wasn't merely kissed or touched—he wanted me.
