Page 40 of The Slug Crystal

The rooftop is better than I could have imagined, a flat expanse of terracotta tiles with two large Adirondack chairs positioned side by side, as if waiting for stargazers.

Marco has already placed Alex's terrarium on a small table between them, the blue snail visible against the glass as he explores his enclosure.

"How did you know this was up here?" I ask, settling into one of the chairs.

Marco's smile is visible even in the dim light.

"I asked one of the elderly members during the bonfire preparations.

The younger ones focus on selling experiences, but he was eager to share actual knowledge about the place.

" He guides me to the chairs, helping me settle into one first before taking the other.

Away from the commune's flashing fairy lights and performative spirituality, the night unfolds above us in breathtaking clarity. The sky is awash with stars, more than I've ever seen, creating patterns I don't recognize against the velvet darkness.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, afraid to break the spell with normal speech.

"The light pollution in cities robs us of this," Marco says, his voice equally soft. "What you're seeing now is what humans have observed for thousands of years. The true night sky. "

He leans back in his chair, pointing upward. "There—do you see that bright star? That's Arcturus. In Italian, we call it 'Arturo.'" His accent softens the word, making it sound like music.

"Arturo," I repeat, tasting the word.

"And there," his hand traces a pattern in the air, "is Orione—Orion to you. The hunter."

"I know that one," I say, following his gesture. "The three stars in a line are his belt, right?"

Marco nods, pleased. "Exactly. And there, that W-shape—that's Cassiopea. And that long stretch of stars? Il Cigno. The swan."

His voice wraps around the Italian names like a caress, turning astronomy into poetry. I find myself watching his face as much as the sky, captivated by the way starlight catches in his eyes, how his features soften with genuine wonder as he maps the heavens.

"How do you know all this?" I ask.

"My grandmother," he explains, smiling at the memory. "She would take me onto the roof of her house in Tuscany every clear night. No formal education, but she knew every constellation, every planet. She would tell me their stories. Not just the scientific facts, but their myths and legends."

There's something so intimate about this glimpse into his past, and I realize how close he must be to his grandmother to have this many stories of her.

"That sounds wonderful," I say. "My science education was mostly frog dissection and baking soda volcanoes.

All in school. My parents were more interested in pop culture than science. "

He laughs softly. "Those have their place too." His gaze shifts to Alex's terrarium. "Though I imagine your recent experiences have been more educational than any classroom."

"That's one way to put it," I agree, watching the blue snail. "I never thought I'd become an expert in snail care. Or that I'd be chasing a witch across Italy with four men, most of whom I met a week ago."

"Life's unexpected turns often lead to the most significant discoveries," Marco observes. "In science and in personal journeys."

The simple wisdom in his statement touches something in me. Unlike the commune's empty platitudes, his words carry the weight of genuine thought. "The stars are different here," I whisper, changing the topic, and looking back at the sky. "But somehow familiar."

Marco turns to face me, moonlight catching in his eyes. "Like people," he replies. "New encounters that somehow feel like recognition."

Our hands rest on the arms of our chairs, inches apart. I don't know which of us moves first, but suddenly our fingers are touching, the contact slight but electric. Neither of us pulls away. His thumb traces a gentle pattern against my skin, as deliberate as his mapping of constellations.

"Emma," he says, my name a question in his mouth.

I turn toward him, heart suddenly racing beneath my ribs.

The moment unfolds with quiet inevitability, like stars wheeling through their ancient patterns.

He leans forward, hesitant at first, giving me every chance to pull away.

When I don't, his lips find mine in the darkness, gentle as a whisper.

His lips move across mine in featherlight movements, a pressure so light it almost feels imagined.

The kiss deepens slowly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek with his scholarly precision that somehow contains more passion than forceful urgency ever could.

I tremble slightly beneath his touch, not from cold but from the realization washing over me. I'm falling for him, for his quiet confidence, his thoughtful observations, and his genuine interest in both the stars above and the blue snail beside us .

When we finally part, Marco's eyes search mine in the darkness. "I didn't plan this," he says softly.

"Neither did I," I admit. "None of this was in my plans."

His smile is gentle with understanding. "The best scientific discoveries often come from unexpected data."

I laugh softly, resting my forehead against his. "Is that what this is? A scientific discovery?"

"More like astronomical observation," he replies, his fingers threading through mine. "Recognizing patterns previously unseen."

I smile gently, feeling a strange peace beneath these ancient stars. As if, perhaps, this journey across Italy isn't just about fixing a magical mistake but about discovering something I didn't know I was looking for.

"Tell me more about the stars," I whisper, settling back in my chair, my hand still linked with his. "Teach me their Italian names."

Marco's smile in the darkness feels like its own constellation, a pattern I'm just beginning to map.