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“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching them about the names of stars and constellations and whatnot? Wouldn’t it help to actually know something?”
“Don’t get all mean because your joke wasn’t funny.”
She scratches her nose. Was that her middle finger? “At least it was actually science related.”
“Maybe that’s what made it suck.”
She smacks him on the arm.
I clear my throat before speaking. “What do you say if you want to start a fight in space?”
Jake claps his hands once. “Here comes Ace with a zinger. Sorry, but you can’t win here. Taylor and I have been telling each other bad jokes since we were in diapers.”
I lift my brow at him. “Comet me, bro.”
Taylor laughs, the sound free and unfettered, and even in the dim light, the planes of her face shadowed, it hits me like an arrow in the gut.
“Hilarious, Ace. Really, you should have been a comedian instead of a plant nerd.”
Taylor releases an exaggerated sigh and spins toward the girls. “Will you show me what you’re working on?” She perches on the log next to Trinity.
“Let’s look for the cat star.” Jake leans over the telescope.
“There is no such thing as a cat star,” Taylor calls out.
He twists around to look at her. “You said there’s a dog star.”
“There is.”
“Where?”
She groans, stalking over to the telescope and nudging him out of the way.
He steps to the side. “If there’s a dog star, there should be a cat star. Am I right?” he asks the kids, but then his head whips back in Taylor’s direction. “Dude, what was that? Was that your stomach or did the ground just vibrate underneath us?”
She leans away from the telescope. “Yeah, it was me. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“Why didn’t you say something when we were at the house?”
She shrugs. “I forgot.”
His face contorts in mock horror. “How could you forget toeat?”
She sighs. “It’s been a long day.”
I take a few steps closer to them. “I can drive you back to the house.”
“Perfect.” Jake jerks a thump toward the campers. “Eve and I can get them back to camp before lights-out.”
Taylor hesitates, but then her stomach groans again, so loudly the nearby campers laugh. “Fine,” she says.
When we’re heading down the hill toward the cart, she nudges me with her elbow. “So I guess my stomach being obnoxious and you feeding me when my bus breaks down is like our thing.”
I chuckle. “I guess it is.” We reach the cart and I lift up the back seat to grab one of the camp sweaters stored there and then hand it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes it, our fingers brushing, sparks flaring up my arm from the contact.
The chilled night air brushing between us doesn’t do anything to mute the heat.
