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He grabbed a log from the pile, tossing it into the firepit. Hot, red embers danced into the air like fireflies. She smiled, appreciating the added warmth.
He rubbed his hands together and crouched beside her. “Did you go out tonight?”
“I bought bananas and beer.” Just like Nash wanted.
He tugged the wool blanket around her shoulders. “Your cheeks are freezing.”
“It’s okay. They’re numb, so I can’t feel them anymore.”
He sat beside her, chafing his hands and blowing on his fingers. Popping the collar of his coat, he held out a hand. “Can I have a sip?”
She handed him the bottle and he laughed.
“Figures, you’re a Jameson girl.”
“It’s an O’Malley thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
She watched him tip it back, drinking right from the mouth of the bottle. His hair looked more blond than red at night. She liked his beard. Was it a rule that lumberjacks had to have beards? “Are you good at climbing trees?”
He laughed. “What?”
“You’re a lumberjack, right, for McCullough Lumber?”
“I’m a junior partner. I run the company. My cousin runs the lumberjacks, though we never actually call them that.” He rolled to his back and lay beside her. “What are we looking at?”
She pointed. “I’m trying to figure out if that red one is a plane or a planet.”
“Has it moved?”
“They’re all moving at this point.”
He screwed the cap back on the whiskey. “No more booze for you.”
She leaned closer to him. He was so warm that his body heat seeped through the blanket covering her.
Then she realized what he said and scoffed. “Who are you, the booze police? That’s my bottle and don’t think I won’t kick your ass to get it back. I may be small, but I’m scrappy.”
“I have no doubt you’d win in a fight. Here.” He handed over the bottle, but she wasn’t thirsty now.
The stars were so bright over Center County. Sometimes it looked like they were right on top of the houses. She and Nash used to stare at the sky all the time. It had been forever since she’d spent a night out here.
“Do you think that’s where we go when our spirit leaves our soul?” she mumbled, her stare softening as she looked at what might be the Big Dipper.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Her body relaxed in the chilled grass and her mind settled. She could fall asleep out here. Probably catch pneumonia but still. It was peaceful.
She softly hummed a familiar tune, not realizing what it was until the words fell out. “And I think it's gonna be a long, long time…”
“Till touch down brings me round again to find…” Ryan’s voice followed, soft and unobtrusive. “I'm not the man they think I am at home. Oh no no no…”
Her head turned, her hair pulling in the damp blades of grass as she smiled at him. “I'm a rocket mannn…”
His mouth pulled into a half smile, the fog of their whiskey-scented breath mingling between them. “Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone.”
“Where did you come from?” she whispered, her thoughts jumbled and lost somewhere between her memories and reality, between here and outer space.
“I just got here.” His stare held hers like a hug, warming her from the inside out.
“I feel like I know you.”
He chuckled. “I live next-door.”
Her head shook. “No, more than that.” She felt herself leaning closer to his body’s warmth. He seemed to be leaning in as well. “I feel like we knew each other before.”
“We didn’t. Not really. Just saw you around school.”
“Oh. That’s kind of sad.”
Warm breath fanned her cheek as he chuckled. “Why?”
“Cause I think you’re nice.”
“I think you’re nice, too.”
“Ryan?”
“Yes, Maggie.” He said her name in an almost teasing manner.
“Were you going to kiss me earlier tonight?” His eyes were so blue.
He looked away. “I was being stupid.”
“No.” She bumped his shoulder with hers and met his stare. “You were being nice.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and a forgotten sensation swirled in her belly. “It’s getting late,” he said, voice rough like gravel.
“No one’s kissed me in two years.”
He broke eye contact again. “Maggie…”
“’S—okay. I can’t kiss you anyway.”
His head turned and his brow pinched. “You’re drunk.”
“Yup. It’s nice.”
“You should go to bed. It’s late.”
Unspoken rejection curdled her stomach. “’Cause I’m drunk?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t want to kiss me anymore?”
He looked into her eyes, and for a moment, she thought she could hear the stars moving closer to watch what might happen next. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
She never kissed a man with a beard before. “Do you want me to want you to?” Did she say that right? “Do you?”
He laughed. “Part of me wants to kiss you. But I think you don’t know what you want right now.”
She told her head to nod but wasn’t sure if she moved. “Maybe that’s okay, because right now, I don’t care about what’s good for me or what consequences will come. It’s lovely.”
