The romance of all this, the thoughtfulness, the level of detail, tells me more than any words Mac could ever say about how he feels about me. He wouldn’t have set this all up unless he liked me. My love language is thoughtful details, and everything about this setup—the lanterns, the drinks, the campsite he probably had to book in advance—is a level of thoughtfulness I had no idea Mac was capable of.
“What?” Mac asks, sounding worried. He lays a hand on my arm.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Your expression, your face. Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s…it’s perfect. No one has ever done anything like this for me. It’s really— Thank you, Mac.”
His face is only partially lit by the lanterns, but even in the dim light I can see his smile, the way he beams at my words. The urge to lean over and kiss him has never been so strong, but I resist. For now.
“Did you say you had alcoholic beverages?” I ask.
Mac offers me a thermos. “Hot chocolate and Baileys.”
Steam rises from the thermos as I open it. The drink warms me from the inside even with the smallest of sips. I hold the thermos close to my face, enjoying the rich, chocolatey smell and the way it defrosts my nose, which is already cold.
“Is this how you always do album releases?” I ask.
“Not initially. I usually listen alone on the floor of my bedroom, but this one time a couple years ago I was at the lake house when their album dropped. I ended up going out to this spot in the woods where there were no lights, no people. It was just me and a blanket and some headphones and the frogs and rabbits and crickets. I lay there for hours listening to that album.”
“Which one was it?”
“The Sky Will Love You.”
“That’s a good one,” I say.
“It’s still one of my favorite albums because to this day, every time I listen to it, I’m back by the lake, looking up at the night sky, watching shooting stars.”
For meThe Sky Will Love Youis sunscreen and French fries.
I listened to that album nonstop the summer it came out. I was working at the diner with my mom, at one of her jobs, and every day I’d listen to it on the way to work and the way home, as I was falling asleep at night, and during my downtime.
“That sounds amazing,” I say.
“It was.”
A month ago I would have felt jealousy or bitterness at his lake house memories versus my diner memories, but all I feel is a nostalgia for that time in my life when I was relatively unburdened. I was helping pay for things around the house, but it was my only responsibility.
Mac and I both lie down. He props himself up on his side, and I follow his lead, facing him. He reaches across the small space between us and takes my hand in his, closing his fingers around mine. We lie mere inches from each other, our breath puffs between us, two clouds of white mingling and disappearing, growing smaller and larger with each breath we take.
“I promised myself that one day I’d share that experience with someone. I’m glad it’s you,” he says.
My heart expands like one of those toy dinosaurs you put in water and watch as they grow. There are so many things I want to say back, and none of them feel like the right thing, so I say nothing and just give his hand a light squeeze.
Mac grabs his phone, releasing my hand, scrolling and tapping until the music starts. He turns the music up just enough that it drowns out the bugs and rustles of nature, until it’s just the sound of Black Phantom and our breathing.
The first notes are magical; they travel directly to the quietest corners of my soul. I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, and I have never been so glad to be wrong.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Yes, it is,” Mac says, but he’s staring right at me, so intently I don’t think he means the album.
There’s a riot in my stomach. It feels a little bit like I might throw up, and also like I might cry or maybe scream. I pull the blanket up to my chin, burying myself in it to try to control the uncontrollable reaction I’m having to this man.
“Are you cold?”
He’s misinterpreted my blanket adjustment, but I don’t know how to explain what just happened inside me, so I don’t.
