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Chapter Forty-One

Maggie

X avier leans over the telescope, the sleeves of his long-sleeve T-shirt pushed up around his forearms, where a vein traces the curve of lean muscle, shifting subtly as he moves. His long fingers turn the focus knob with a kind of effortless ease, like he’s done this a thousand times. Like the telescope is an extension of him—the same way his guitar is… a hockey stick, his little brother. The guy just looks at ease with everything he takes on, and it’s almost maddening to watch.

He straightens, stepping back. His lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile as he turns to me. “Maggie LeClair, I give you…” he trails off and places his hand lightly against the small of my back, guiding me toward the eyepiece. “ The moon, ” he finishes, his voice low, almost reverent.

I shift forward, my heart hammering a little harder than it should, and press my eye to the eyepiece. My breath catches. “Oh my God,” I whisper.

It’s the moon—so close, I can see the craters, the ridges, the shadows that look like they’ve been painted by hand.

“That’s the moon—for real life?” I manage, exhaling the words.

Behind me, Xavier chuckles, the sound low and rich, like he’s been waiting for this reaction. “Live from the Milky Way,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. He's proud to share this with me, I realize. It's a thought that sends a thrill along my spine. He's happy sharing this little sliver of his world with me.

I pull back from the eyepiece to look at him, and for a moment, I forget what I’m supposed to say. His arms are crossed loosely, leaning against the telescope like it’s no big deal, but there’s something in his expression—a flicker of pride, or maybe satisfaction—that softens his usual guarded edges.

“It’s incredible,” I finally breathe, and the way he looks at me—just for a second—makes it feel like he’s seeing me, too. "Show me something else," I tell him, still buzzing and tingly.

He gives a throaty laugh. "What do you want to see?"

"I don't know." I shrug, watching how the dim light catches on his jawline. "What's your favorite thing to look at in the sky?"

He laughs again, running a hand through his already-messy hair. The question seems to overwhelm him. Which, okay, makes sense—I basically just asked him to name his favorite thing in an entire galaxy. His teeth catch his plump lower lip as he thinks, and I have to force myself to look away. Up through the looming glass dome, at the hundreds and thousands. Millions? Billions? of stars up there looking back down at us right now.

When I turn back to Xavier, he's already moving toward the telescope.

"Got it," he says, flashing me that pleased grin that makes my stomach do weird flips. His teeth catch his bottom lip again as he bends over the viewfinder.

He makes adjustments, his fingers dancing over the controls. He has to bend down pretty far, and I realize he's tilting the telescope to account for our height difference.

"Okay," he says, stepping back and motioning me over with a glint in his eyes that feels like we're sharing a secret. A moment… A memory, maybe.

I peer through the lens, the cool brass brushing my cheek.

“The Crab Nebula,” Xavier says, his voice low and close behind me. “It’s the aftermath of a supernova—basically, a star died and left this explosion of light and color behind.”

The view is breathtaking. It looks like frozen fireworks, a snapshot of something explosive and wild, caught in perfect stillness.

“That’s… beautiful,” I whisper, leaning back slightly but not enough to lose the view.

Xavier lets out a soft, almost bashful laugh. “Yeah. I don’t know… I just think it’s kind of cool that something so beautiful comes out of total de struction.”

His words settle in the air between us, then he's crouching down beside me, his hand brushing the side of my arm as he grips one of the heavy brass dials near the base, rotating it with slow, practiced precision. His face is so close, I can feel the warmth of his skin against my cheek, the faint rasp of his breath against my temple. His hair tickles just slightly as he leans in closer. He smells like soap—something musky. Warm and masculine.

“And this,” he says, his voice low and quiet in a way that makes me forget how to breathe, "is kind of the total opposite." His fingers adjust controls. Then he leans back slightly, his hand still resting between my shoulder blades as he angles the telescope. “The Trifid Nebula. See how it looks more… messy?”

I press my eye to the lens, and my heart stutters. The view is a swirl of pinks and purples and blues overlapping in a storm of light and shadow.

“It’s a star nursery,” Xavier explains, his hand still warm against my back. “Massive clouds of gas and dust coming together to form new stars. It’s chaotic and messy, but that’s kind of the point. Something about it just feels—”

"…Alive," I finish for him.

His tall frame brushes against my back. "Exactly,” he murmurs.

The swirls seem to move, shifting as though they’re breathing. Untamed.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, then glance at him over my shoulder.

He nods, a faint smile flickering across his face, but there’s something deeper in his expression. “Yeah,” he says softly. Only he isn't looking at the stars. He's looking at me.

He straightens to his full height.

Then the warmth of his hands settles at my hips. His fingers are strong, certain as they guide me to turn, spanning wide enough that they nearly encircle me completely. My heart thumps against my ribs as I face him, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. As close as we were a moment ago, now I can see every detail of his expression in the starlit room.

His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he’s weighing his next move. His gaze holds mine for a long, heavy second.

A small gasp catches in my throat as one of his fingers brushes against the strip of bare skin where my pajama top has ridden up. The touch sends electricity racing through my veins, and his finger feels like fire against my skin. My breath catches, trapped somewhere between my lungs and my lips as I look up at him.

My fingers curl into the soft material of his T-shirt without my permission. Whether to steady myself or pull him closer, I'm not sure. The room seems to shrink, narrowing down to just the warmth of his hands and the way his eyes catch the starlight filtering through the dome above us.

"I know that you—" he starts, his voice deep, lower than it usually sounds. "I mean, the third date—the rules…"

"We had our third date." I swallow. "We're on it right now."

He rolls his eyes. "Nah. Don't say that." The pads of his fingers press lightly against my hips. "I fucked up the third—"

I cut him off. "Of all the dates we've been on so far— this one's my favorite."

He inhales, long and deep. "I don't know… I just—"

His gaze lowers, his long lashes hiding his still slightly bloodshot eyes. Then he leans in, dips his head so his breath trails along the length of my neck. His lips brush my skin and… this is nothing like I've ever felt with any guy before. "Fuck," he moans. "I want to kiss you so bad."

His breath traces my jawline; one hand sliding slowly up my spine. There's pressure behind his touch that hints at his need. How much he wants this. How much closer he wants us to be.

And I feel the brush of his lips against my cheek. "Maggs…"

He's so close. And I'm waiting… for his lips to touch mine. For him to kiss me. Finally.

"I need some words here, Maggs," he says, his voice rough against my skin. It tickles and feels amazing at the same time.

"Wh—What? What words?" I have no idea what he's talking about. Is it possible those swirls of stardust and clouds of gas formations hypnotized me somehow?

"I'm pretty sure I'm reading you correctly. But I'm gonna need confirmation… That you're cool with this." His nose skims my cheek. Then his lips. "With me touching you… here." His lips brush the corner of my m outh, so so gently. "This okay?" His hand glides up slowly… slowly along my ribs. Higher. "Yes?" He pauses, his eyes flickering to mine. "No?" He leans back a little.

"Xavier Rockwell." I can't help grinning. "Are you asking for my permission to kiss me?"

He lets out a low, gruff sound. Kind of like a chuckle. "Yeah, Maggs. I'm asking for your permission."

"A gentleman after all, Rockwell?"

His hands slip under the hem of my top, contradicting his words when he says, "I'm always a gentleman."

The jury's out on that one. But it doesn't matter; I'm into this. What's happening between us— after all the barbs and arguments, veiled humor and stalemates that turned into awkward hidden glances and late night conversations and nerdy, awesome first and second and third dates. I'm so into where it all led. Right here. Now. Under the glass-domed ceiling… under the moon and stars and nebula and zillions of other things up there in the night sky I know nothing about, and Xavier knows way more about than his absent father will ever know.

"Yes… Yeah." I splay my hand against the hard muscle of his chest, my fingers fisting his shirt again a little awkwardly. "I'm okay with this." I lean in, nipping his lip with my teeth "Great with this, actually. Permission granted. Let the kissing commence. Godspeed."

He laughs against my lips, but his voice is still soft when he teases, "That your version of dirty talk, Maggie LeClair?"

"The closest I come to dirty talk is wicked one-liner insults," I tell him. "If you wanted dirty talk, you might want to pull the plug now, you lusty eggroll."

Xavier laughs. Low and gruff and So. Flipping. Hot. His laugh has become my most favorite thing.

"Well, I've got nothing else going on tonight…" He sighs dramatically, but his eyes still flicker with heat. "So, guess I'll forego the dirty talk."

"God. Always having to make do. You poor thing."

"I know. Poor me." He leans in.

" Poor you. " My words are a whisper that die on his lips when they touch mine. My mouth parts.

His lips are warm, soft but sure, moving against mine in a way that sends a spark straight to my core. There’s no hesitation, no fumbling—it’s deliberate, like he’s spent time imagining exactly how this would go, and now he’s making good on all of it. My breath catches again as his hand slides from my ribs to the curve of my waist, anchoring me to him.

I tilt my head, letting him deepen the kiss. The pressure of his mouth grows firmer, more insistent, and I swear my knees might give out if it weren’t for the steadying grip of his hand. He tastes faintly of strawberry Gatorade and something darker, something heady I can’t name but already want more of.

His other hand moves to the back of my neck, his fingers threading gently into my hair as if he’s memorizing the way it feels. He tilts my head, just slightly, and the kiss changes—slower, deeper, like he's only just savoring it now, the way I have been, not just following through on burning anticipation.

A small, involuntary sound escapes my throat, and I feel the corner of his mouth twitch against mine, like he heard it, and it’s driving him crazy.

The space between us disappears completely, my chest brushing against his. My hands slide from the fabric of his shirt to the solid plane of his shoulders, and I feel his muscles shift under my touch as he pulls me even closer. I’m drowning in the warmth of him, the quiet rasp of his breath, the faint scent of aloe shampoo and outdoors and something uniquely Xavier.

When we finally break apart, his forehead presses lightly against mine, and for a moment, the only sound is the soft, uneven rhythm of our breathing. I keep my eyes closed, half-afraid that if I open them, I’ll lose the electric charge crackling between us.

“Maggie…” His voice is low, rough, like my name is something sacred. His thumb brushes the line of my jaw, his touch featherlight, but it still makes my skin tingle.

I open my eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but his pupils are dark, his lips slightly swollen, and I feel something shift in the space between us, like gravity pulling us closer even though there’s no space left to close.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His mouth quirks into a crooked grin, the kind that could destroy me if I let it. “I really want to take you on a fourth date." He pulls back. "If you're ok with that." His hands slide to my shoulders. "And maybe a fifth."

I laugh softly, the sound shaky but real. “That's a lot of chicken nuggets.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "No nuggets."

"Then yes."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He leans in to kiss me again—just once, soft and lingering, like a promise.

Outside the Observatory, ancient stars keep dying in explosions of glowing hues of color and tendrils of light spilling out in every direction; and massive clouds of gas and dust come together to form new ones.

Chaotic and messy and beautiful.