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He smiled. “We’ll work it out. I’ve never hidden who I am, and I don’t expect to start now. We can just tell folks that this cabin has two single beds.”
“But it doesn’t.”
“They don’t know that.” He kissed my lips. “But I like that you’re thinking of these things. You’re thinking about reality.”
“I’m trying. I won’t always get it right, Paul. But I’m trying.”
“I know you are.” He kissed my sternum, then kissed the tattoo over my heart. He stared at it, then rolled us onto our sides, collected me in his arms, and brushed my hair off my forehead. He searched my eyes and traced his finger down my lips, chin, to my chest, and back to the tattoo. “You said this nebula is like you. Because it decimates everything in its path.”
I knew he’d bring that up eventually. I didn’t really want to talk about it, but if I was going to learn how to be honest with him, it started now.
“It’s how I felt when you left,” I admitted. “That I’d taken your love and decimated it. I’d ruined everything good in my life. Everything that was pure and worth anything. Until there was nothing left, just a massive black hole.”
He smiled sadly. “No, this nebula is like you because it’s made up of a million beautiful moving parts just looking for peace.”
Oh god.
“You search the sky every night looking for peace, but, Derek, it’s not up there. It’s right here,” he said, his palm pressed over my heart. “The peace you need to look for is in here.”
I nodded, because I knew that was true. It just hurt. “My peace starts here with you.”
He smiled, tired and heavy lidded. He kissed me, soft and warm. “Too tired to get up,” he mumbled.
Washing faces and brushing teeth could wait. I pulled him closer and rested my chin against the side of his face and smiled into the darkness.
My peace started here.
My peace had already started.
EPILOGUE
PAUL
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
I jumpedout of the Cruiser, handed one box of supplies to Derek, grabbed the other, and we dashed into the communal kitchen.
“He’s on his way now,” I said over the sound of the wind.
“He’s insane,” Derek said, looking out at the storm about to hit. “This one’s gonna be a doozy.”
I nodded. “Sure is.” The air was already charged, thunder rolled overhead, and cracks of lightning lit up the too-dark afternoon sky. “Did you get the tie-downs done?”
“Yep. She’s all secure as it can be.” Derek was stacking the supplies into the fridge and cupboards. “Tent two stuck a bit. Thought I was gonna have to wait for you, but I got it in.”
When storms like this hit, we needed to make sure our whole campsite was locked down and secure. We couldn’t afford damaged tents or, worse still, someone getting injured.
Having Derek here was a godsend. In the beginning, I’d worried about how it’d all work, with money and getting his stargazing tours up and running, but it had been incredible. And he never stopped working. He was either mowing grass, clipping the trees around the campsite, making everything more client-friendly without losing any of the natural charm. He taught himself how to sew canvas patches on the eco canopies on the tents, he cooked meals, he cleaned up. He made my tours run more smoothly, taking half my workload without complaint. And once a month, he ran his own night-time astronomy tours. Which were booked solid. We were considering maybe introducing more throughout the year.
It hadn’t been all smooth sailing. We’d had some adjustment issues and a few arguments, but mostly it had been the best personal and professional decision I’d ever made.
But he, himself, the Derek I used to know—the moody and brooding Derek, the Derek that would sometimes let the darkness in—was gone. Sure, he was still a little moody sometimes, but taking him out of his old life, where his past was only ever a step behind him, had been good for him.
Being outdoors was good for him.
Being surrounded by this remote and rugged country was good for him.
Being able to watch and study the stars whenever he wanted was good for him.
