"You're impossible."
"I'mdata-driven," he corrected. "Tonight is ranked 9.7 for romance. That's premium stargazing quality. Ideal conditions for a first date and possible hand-holding under nebulous emotional tension."
I felt a giggle rise in my throat. "So I should prepare for... what? Whispering constellations into the night and one dramatically timed forehead kiss?"
"Exactly," he said solemnly. "The stars told me themselves."
I looked up. The sky was fading into that early blue dusk, the kind that always felt like the world holding its breath.
"So..." I said, brushing a hair behind my ear, "should I bring anything?"
"Bring yourself," he said, "and maybe a hoodie. Or don't. I'll pretend to struggle before offering you mine, but it'll alreadybe folded and waiting in the backseat. I like to plan my acts of chivalry."
I laughed, warmth blooming in my chest. "You're unreal, you know that?"
"Only slightly celestial," he said. "But completely real where it counts."
My heart fluttered. I bit my lip, already imagining it—blankets, stars, his voice pointing out the galaxies I could never name, like maybe he was trying to give them to me.
"See you tonight, then?" I asked.
"You will," he said. "And June?"
"Yeah?"
"I promise the cosmos have nothing on you."
And just like that, the ache of the past folded a little smaller.
...I hadn't felt this kind of excitement in a long time. The fluttery, breathless kind that makes your hands fidget with your sweater hem even though it's already perfect.
I wore something cozy but soft, something that felt like me—but a little more radiant. A fitted cream-colored sweater, the kind that catches the sunset like gold, and jeans that hugged just right. My hair was loose, waves still warm from the curling iron, and I'd dabbed on a bit of my favorite scent—vanilla and something that smelled like dusk.
When Liam arrived, I swear the air changed.
He stepped out of the car with quiet ease, wearing a soft charcoal sweater that fit him a littletoowell, the sleeves pushed back in that careless, lived-in way. His trousers were dark and tailored just enough to hint at good taste without trying too hard, and his boots bore a trace of dust, like he'd walked through stories to get here. A pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—sharp, classic, a little disarming. His hair was slightly tousled, and when he looked at me, those impossibly blue eyes—framed in lenses and fading sunlight—felt like they recognized something in me. Like I was the place he'd been meaning to arrive.
Then—when he reached down to grab something from the back seat—I caught a glimpse of a tattoo. Just a flicker of ink where his shirt rode up, curling over the dip of his back like a secret.
I blinked. "Wait—was that another tattoo?"
He straightened, smirking. "Maybe."
I raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"You'll see one day," he said, voice a little lower. "Might even get to explore them. If you're curious enough."
My cheeks lit on fire. I opened my mouth to respond, but—
"Liam!" my dad called from the porch, voice all parental authority. "Got a minute?"
Liam's face froze. "Operation Cosmic Charm has encountered turbulence."
I tried not to laugh. "You'll survive."
He turned, composed himself like he was walking into a job interview, and gave me a wink before heading over to my dad.
Ten minutes and a handshake later, we were off. We drove away from the lights of town, the sun dipping lower, painting everything in pink and orange. The desert opened around us—wide, quiet, golden. Sagebrush rolled by like waves, and the horizon felt endless. As the sky dimmed, stars began to prick through the dusk like they were rushing to see us.
