I don’t know what possesses me, but I start drawing a forest. Not the manicured gardens of the Spencer estate, but something wild and real. Dark trees reaching toward stars, shadows holding secrets. The kind of place where anything feels possible.
When she finishes up and wanders over, I make a decision that terrifies me more than any Spencer family dinner.
“I drew a forest,” I blurt out, immediately wanting to kick myself.
Tara’s mouth parts slightly as she looks over my shoulder, and in the dim bar lights, I can’t read her expression. The silence stretches, and every instinct screams at me to run, to snatch the book back, to rebuild my walls before she can see too much.
But I stay. For once in my life, I stay.
“Alfie, this is beautiful,” she says, her voice a breathy whisper, and my heart constricts.
I swallow hard. “Thanks.”
“Can I see closer?” The way she asks, soft, careful, like she knows exactly how much trust this requires, makes me want to show her everything.
“Sure.” I hand her the book, surprised by how natural it feels to place it in her hands. Like maybe some walls are meant to come down.
She settles beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she studies the drawing. The warmth of her seeps through my shirt, and I find myself watching her face instead of the page. The way her fingers hover over the lines, like she’s afraid to smudge them. How her eyes catch every detail I thought I’d hidden in the shadows.
“The way you’ve captured the light between the trees,” she murmurs, “it’s like you’ve drawn daylight itself.”
Something catches in my throat. Because, of course, Tara would see that – the light I try to find even in the darkest corners. It’s what she does, what she is.
“There are more, nature drawings, I mean,” I hear myself say. “If you want to see them.”
She looks up at me then, and even in the dim bar lighting, I read the understanding in her eyes. This isn’t just about art. It’s about trust. About letting someone see the parts of myself I usually keep hidden.
“Show me,” she whispers.
So, I do.
“Shit,”I mutter, pulling into campus. It’s just past 1 AM, and all I want is to drive Tara home, but I can’t leave my research notes unsecured overnight. “Sorry, I just realized I left my bag in the lab. Mind if we make a quick stop?”
“You really do live there, don’t you?” There’s no judgment in her voice, just that gentle teasing I’m starting to crave.
“According to Freddie, yeah.”
I fumble for the light switch, hyper-aware of her presence behind me.
Having her in my lab is fucking dangerous. She leans on my desk like she owns it. I keep catching myself staring at the strip of skin where her shirt rides up, wondering how it would feel under my hands.
As I grab my bag, I catch her studying the mineral formations on my desk with genuine interest. An idea forms - reckless maybe, but it’s late and she’s looking at my research like she’s interested and I find myself not wanting this night to end.
“Hey,” I say before I can overthink it, “want to see something cool? It’s just a short walk from here.”
“Are you luring me into the woods at night, Spencer?” But she’s already following me.
“There’s this spot where the trees clear...” I hesitate. I’ve never shown anyone this place. It’s always been mine, like my art, like all the parts of myself I keep hidden. But something about Tara makes me want to share these pieces. Share it all.
When we reach the clearing, I find myself taking her hand to help her over a fallen log. “Look up.”
Her soft gasp makes something in my chest tighten.The summer constellations are perfect tonight - Hercules high overhead, Scorpius rising in the south. I watch her face as she takes it all in, the way her eyes light up like they do when she talks about fossils.
“That’s Arcturus,” I say quietly, pointing to the bright star. “Part of Boötes constellation. Ancient cultures used it to mark the beginning of summer.”
“The Bear Watcher, right?” She settles onto the grass beside me. “Because it follows Ursa Major across the sky?”
I look at her, surprised. “You know your astronomy.”
