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Chapter ten

Wes

E ric emerged from the guest room carrying his laptop and the silver thermos I'd loaned him, padding across the worn floorboards in wool socks. He'd changed into flannel pajama pants and a thermal shirt that clung to his shoulders. I tried not to notice.

"Hey." He settled into the chair across from me. "You seen this?"

He turned his laptop screen toward me, showing an astronomy website full of technical diagrams. "Draconid meteor shower peaks tonight. Says we should be able to see fifteen to twenty meteors per hour if we can get away from any light pollution."

I glanced up from my weather notes. "And?"

"And we're on an island twenty miles from the nearest streetlight." Eric's eyes lit up. "This is, like, optimal viewing conditions. The article says the best time is after ten PM."

I set my pencil down and examined his features in the lamplight. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

"It's October, Eric. It's cold out there."

"I bought hot chocolate mix in Whistleport, and it will only take minutes to whip it up." He lifted the thermos as evidence in his favor. "It has actual marshmallows. And I can add a splash of something Mrs. Pelletier recommended for October nights."

"I'm tired."

"No, you're not." He grinned. "You're avoiding. Again."

He was alarmingly on target. I'd spent the entire day deliberately wearing myself out with maintenance tasks that didn't strictly need doing—cleaning the generator housing twice, reorganizing the tool shed according to a system that made sense only to me, and hauling enough storm debris to build a small fort.

It was all to avoid the restless energy that built inside me every time Eric was nearby.

"Look, I know this is weird." He gestured vaguely between us.

"I know you probably think this is some romantic setup or whatever.

But honestly? I just saw this thing about meteors, and I thought.

.. when's the next time I'm going to be somewhere with zero light pollution and someone who might actually know where to find Draco? "

His genuine curiosity cut through my defenses more effectively than any romantic overture could have. He wasn't trying to manufacture a moment. He was being himself, finding wonder in things that most people would scroll past without a second thought.

I watched him close the laptop and tuck it under his arm.

"Ten minutes," he said, standing and reaching for the wool blanket draped over the back of the couch.

"If the meteors are a bust or you decide I'm insane, we'll come back, and I promise I'll stop suggesting outdoor activities for the rest of my stay. "

He flashed that stupid, open smile—the one that made him look like he was sharing a secret with the universe and genuinely believed the universe might smile back. "Fine, ten minutes."

Eric's grin widened into something that could have powered the lighthouse for a week. While he bustled around the kitchen to make instant hot chocolate, I pushed the pace of completing my weather log.

Ten minutes later, I followed him toward the cottage door. He had the blanket tucked under one arm and carried the thermos with the opposite hand.

The path to the lighthouse wound through beach grass that brushed against our legs with each step. Eric called back to me. "There's a spot near the light where the ground levels out. It should give us a clear view without the wind trying to relocate us to Nova Scotia."

I knew the place he meant—a natural shelf of granite that jutted from the bluff like a viewing platform some ancient architect had explicitly carved for watching the sky.

I'd stood there countless times, but always alone and during daylight hours.

The idea of sharing it was like inviting someone into a room I'd never intended for company.

Eric spread the blanket, smoothing out wrinkles and testing the ground underneath for rocks that might dig into our backs later. "Hot chocolate," he announced, unscrewing the thermos cap. Steam rose immediately, along with luscious scents of chocolate and vanilla.

He poured the rich drink into the metal cap and handed it to me. The first sip burned my tongue in the best possible way—rich and sweet with an undertone of fire that spread warmth through my chest.

"Mrs. Pelletier's contribution?" I asked, settling beside him on the blanket.

"She said any man who spent October nights outdoors needed something stronger than unadorned cocoa." Eric's shoulder brushed mine as he adjusted his position.

Above us, the sky stretched infinite and black, pricked with stars that appeared close enough to pluck from their velvet backdrop. The Milky Way spilled across the heavens in a river of light more vivid than anything visible from populated areas.

Eric tilted his head back, scanning the constellations. "Okay, so that's definitely the Big Dipper." He confidently pointed toward Ursa Major.

"Good start."

"And that bright one there—that's got to be the North Star, right?" His finger traced a line from the Dipper's edge to Polaris with surprising accuracy.

I nodded. "Most people miss that connection."

"Ziggy taught me that one. Said it was the only constellation knowledge that mattered if you ever got lost in the woods.

" I handed the thermos lid back to Eric, and he sipped the chocolate.

"Course, he also told me you could navigate by moss growth patterns, which turned out to be complete bullshit when we tried it during a camping trip in eighth grade. "

"Moss grows where it's damp. Has nothing to do with direction."

"Yeah, we figured that out after walking in circles for three hours." Eric's laugh was warm and unselfconscious. "My dad had to come find us with the volunteer fire department. It was the most embarrassing rescue of my adolescent career."

I smiled at the idea of a younger Eric and his best friend, lost in the Maine woods with supreme confidence in their dubious survival skills.

"Now that one..." Eric traced a pattern with his finger that bore no resemblance to any constellation I'd ever learned, connecting stars in a design that looked more like modern art than ancient mythology. "That's the Coffee Pot of the North."

"Coffee Pot of the North?"

"Sure. See the handle? And the spout? It's brewing celestial caffeine for all the sleepy polar bears down here."

The absurdity of his improvised constellation struck me as so perfectly Eric that I laughed—not the rusty, reluctant sound that occasionally escaped me, but something genuine that came from a place I'd nearly forgotten existed.

"That's not how astronomy works."

"Says who? Maybe ancient civilizations weren't creative enough.

" Eric shifted beside me, his enthusiasm undimmed by my skepticism.

"Besides, you have to admit it looks more like a coffee pot than half the official ones.

I mean, what the hell is Lynx supposed to be?

It's just a bunch of dim stars barely forming a line. "

He had a point. The official constellations required more imagination than most people possessed. Eric's coffee pot was visually coherent.

"And over there, that's the Great Spatula, flipping cosmic pancakes."

I followed his gesture to another random star pattern, and despite every rational impulse, I embraced his game of celestial rebranding. There was something infectious about his willingness to see wonder where others saw empty space.

"There," Eric said suddenly, pointing toward a streak of light that flashed across the sky for maybe two seconds before disappearing. "First meteor. The show's starting."

Another streak of light traced its brief arc across the sky, and Eric gasped. We'd been lying on our backs for maybe twenty minutes, shoulders touching under the wool blanket, passing the thermos back and forth while meteors streaked through the darkness.

Eric shifted beside me, turning slightly so he could see my profile. "Did you ever think about what life would've looked like if that night never happened?"

I listened and wasn't sure I wanted to answer. When they asked about my past, most people were fishing for details about the accident itself—the crash, the damage, and the dramatic arc of my downfall. Eric was asking a more difficult question about the future that had died along with Derek.

I took a slow sip from the thermos, letting the chocolate and bourbon mixture burn down my throat. Above us, another meteor flashed and disappeared.

"UMaine. I had a full athletic scholarship. They'd been recruiting me since junior year, and the coach called three times that week to talk about their development program."

Eric turned away from the skies to look at me. There were no interruptions, only quiet listening, making it easier to continue.

"The plan was to redshirt my freshman year and get stronger in their training program, then work my way up through the depth chart.

If lucky, the scouts thought maybe I could crack the starting lineup by sophomore year.

" I stared up at the Milky Way. "There were scouts already asking questions about the minor leagues after college.

Nothing guaranteed, but enough interest to make it feel possible. "

Eric poured more hot chocolate into the thermos lid.

"I loved everything about hockey. It wasn't only the playing but the ritual of it. Taping your stick just right so the blade feels like an extension of your hand. I loved how the locker room went dead quiet thirty seconds before you took the ice."

Eric's fingers found mine in the darkness, resting against my knuckles like an anchor point.

"The night of the accident, I'd been celebrating signing my letter of intent in addition to graduation. When Derek picked me up, he'd already been drinking and had a beer bottle in his hand." I shrugged. "He was Derek. He always landed on his feet."

"It sounds like times worth remembering."