Micah just looked amused, that hint of warmth in his eyes that I was learning meant he found something endearing rather than annoying. "Ready to see some stars?"
"I am." I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door, the old canvas one that was soft from years of wear—and stepped out onto the porch. "Oh, wait. The star chart."
I ducked back inside and retrieved my foster mother's chart from the kitchen table, handling it carefully. The paper was old, yellowed at the edges, covered in hand-drawn constellations andfaded annotations in her spidery handwriting. I'd found it in a box of her things I'd never properly gone through, and the moment I'd seen it, I'd thought of Micah.
"Here." I held it out to him as I rejoined him on the porch. "I thought you might find it interesting."
He took it with the kind of reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts, his fingers gentle on the fragile paper. "Daphne, this is..." He trailed off, studying the chart with an intensity that made something warm bloom in my chest. "This is hand-drawn. Look at the detail on Orion, whoever made this really understood the magnitude differences between the stars."
"My foster mother…. She was an amateur astronomer, apparently. I didn't know until I found this." I told him with a small smile when remembering her.
"This is remarkable." He looked up at me, his expression open in a way I rarely saw. "Thank you for sharing it with me."
"I thought you could tell me which parts are outdated," I told him smiling softly, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Since you mentioned how our understanding of the sky has evolved."
The smile he gave me was soft, almost tender. "I'd love to. We can look at it together when we're set up." We walked to his truck, the same one I'd seen countless times parked at the Henderson property, now as familiar as my own vehicle. He opened the passenger door for me, a gesture that might have felt performative from someone else but seemed natural from him, just another form of care and attention.
The drive to the viewing site was short, winding up through the property on a dirt road I hadn't known existed. Micah pointed out landmarks as we passed, the half-renovated barn, the old greenhouse Oliver was apparently planning to restore, the field where Garrett had planted cover crops to rehabilitatethe soil. He spoke about the property with quiet pride, like he was showing me something precious.
Maybe he was.
"Here we are," he said finally, pulling into a small clearing at the top of a gentle rise. The sky opened up above us, vast and darkening, the first stars just beginning to appear in the deepening blue.
I climbed out of the truck and just stood there for a moment, breathing in the cool night air. It smelled like pine and grass and something clean and wild, the scent of wide-open spaces and infinite possibility.
"I checked the site this morning," Micah said, coming around to stand beside me. "No rocks or roots to trip over, and I brought extra padding for the blankets. I wanted to make sure you'd be comfortable." The admission made my heart squeeze. He'd checked the site. He'd thought about my comfort, my safety, hours before I'd even started getting ready. This wasn't casual for him either.
"Thank you," I said softly. "For all of this. For thinking of everything."
"I tend to overthink," he admitted, a note of self-deprecation creeping into his voice. "The others tease me about it. I made a detailed viewing guide and prepared a list of constellations and Levi called me Professor Romance."
I laughed, a real laugh, surprised out of me by the mental image of serious, analytical Micah being teased by his pack. "Professor Romance?"
"It's not entirely inaccurate." He was smiling too, that rare full smile that transformed his face. "I did make a list. And a viewing guide. I brought hot chocolate because the temperature's supposed to drop into the fifties after midnight."
"I think that's sweet." The words slipped out before I could second-guess them. "That you planned so carefully. That you wanted tonight to be good."
Something shifted in his expression, surprise, maybe, or gratitude. "I want you to see what I see when I look at the sky. The wonder of it. The perspective."
"Then show me." I told him, voice soft as I smiled at him. He set up with quiet efficiency, spreading blankets over the soft grass, arranging pillows for our heads, setting out the thermos of hot chocolate and two mugs. I tried to help, but he had a system, a particular way he wanted things arranged, and eventually I just stood back and watched him work. There was something calming about watching Micah do anything. He moved with purpose, every action deliberate and considered. No wasted motion, no uncertainty. He knew exactly what he was doing and why, and there was a steadiness to him that made me feel anchored just by proximity.
"Ready?" he asked when everything was arranged to his satisfaction.I nodded and lowered myself onto the blanket, lying back against the pillows. The ground was soft beneath me, cushioned by the extra padding he'd mentioned, and when I looked up, the sky stretched endlessly above me, a canvas of deepening purple scattered with the first bright points of starlight.
Micah settled beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him but not quite touching. The scent of him drifted over, something clean and masculine, like cedar and winter air.
"The meteor shower won't peak until later," he said, his voice low and close in the darkness. "But we should start seeing some activity in about an hour. In the meantime, I can show you some constellations. If you want."
"I want." I told him looking at him from under my lashes in embarrassment on how quickly I responded to that.
He shifted slightly, raising one hand to point toward the sky. "There, do you see that bright star, slightly reddish? That's Arcturus. It's the fourth brightest star in the night sky and one of the closest to our solar system. If you follow the arc of the Big Dipper's handle, it leads you right to it. Arc to Arcturus—that's how I learned to find it as a kid."
I followed his pointing finger, squinting at the scattered lights above. "I think I see it. The reddish one?"
"That's it. Now, from Arcturus, if you continue in the same direction, you'll come to Spica—that bright bluish star there. Speed on to Spica. Those two phrases, arc to Arcturus, speed on to Spica, were how my father taught me to navigate the spring sky."
"Your father taught you astronomy?" I inquired, curious how he knew all of this.
A pause. "He did. Before he passed. It was one of the few things we did together that didn't involve arguing about my future or his expectations. We could just... look up. Be quiet together. It was peaceful."
