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It takes my brain a moment to scramble through his words, hunting for any opportunities for me to misunderstand what he’s just said. But his meaning is there. Clear and straightforward.

He just called me intelligent.

Adventurous.

And beautiful.

Could he really . . . mean it?

“I’ve also never tried camping with strangers before,” he continues. “Until today.” His green eyes catch the light of the fire like they have little embers living inside them.

“Is that so?” I manage to respond. The tips of our books are touching in our distracted hands. A paperback kiss.

“C’mon, everybody! It’s hike time!” Genie calls shrilly, clapping her hands. “These stars wait for no one!”

“Again?” James says, pulling back. “How many times in a night are we hiking?”

As it turns out, twice. Once to get to the base of Maple Falls and set up camp, and the second time to get to the clearing at the top of the falls where a blanket of stars awaits. The side trail to the top is not actually a trail—just a worn-out path that follows the boulders and rush of water. There’s a bit of scrambling and tree grabbing, and I think it takes everyone longer than we expected to get to the top. Even in the daylight hours it would be a challenge to know where to put your foot; doing it by the light of a headlamp with freezing fingers clawing at rocks for stability puts the experience on another level. We’re all huffing and sweating through some layers by the time we reach the pinnacle of the falls, but the view, true to Genie’s word, is worth it.

It’s a gorgeous evening, the kind that only the clearest and coldest of nights brings. The kind where, as you lie on a blanket on the frozen ground and look upward at the vast, starlit sky, you feel like you are in a part of outer space, more connected to it than the earth beneath you.

People pair off into clusters—couples in sets of two, singles in threes and fours—leaving James and me looking at each other over an open blanket.

It feels a bit like a statement.

Of course, Genie and Peter are pointedly watching us, which doesn’t help. They might as well be munching on popcorn given the way they’re eyeing us like we’re an unfolding romantic comedy. They’re not even being subtle about it. Their headlamps are beamed straight at us. And others, too, appear to be people watching, with no technology to entertain them.

We are onstage here. The backyard flirting is suddenly and quickly brought to the front yard for the world to witness.

Super.

James breaks the ice first. “So . . .” he says slowly. “I think this is a good open spot, if you think so. Or would you rather sit over there?” He gestures to the open corner of a blanket on which three people are already sitting.

“This is great,” I say quickly, and we take over the magically available empty blanket someone left out for us, the one I have no doubt Genie dropped down and fielded others away from to reserve for this express purpose.

The star show is nothing short of lovely. Stunning. A few shooting stars are met with appropriate oohs and aahs, and the night is exactly what people anticipated—all the way down to the frozen faces. I’d love to say that James and I stay until the bitter end, relishing every single twinkle and proclaiming Yes! This is ab-so-lutely worth the hypothermia. I never needed that tenth toe! But alas we are not the last, or even among the last, to give in and head back down. When the first cluster of stargazers picks up their blanket, we turn to look at each other, our noses inches from touching.

“You good to go?” James whispers.

“Desperately. I was ready after the first shooting star,” I whisper back.

“Are your legs working?”

“They’ve been frozen for half an hour.”

We shoot up, hastily hopping off the blanket and clenching and unclenching our frozen fists. I push lightly on James’s back to get us moving. Somehow seeming to know we’ve got to sneak out quietly, we both begin tiptoeing toward the roaring waterfall and base of trees where the top of the waterfall begins. We’re just about to make it when James steps on a limb and a loud crack rips through the air.

We freeze.

“Leaving so soon?” Genie calls.

“That was a beautiful meteor shower,” I say. “What a great idea.”

“It’s getting late. Gotta go hit the hay,” James says simultaneously.

We both speak with enthusiasm, all smiles. Or I think we’re smiling. I can’t really feel my cheeks.

“Oh?” she says. And for goodness’ sake, the girl looks like she’s about to hop up and drag us back down by our ears. “You sure?”