Page 35 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“I told you,” he said proudly. “You just have to learn to trust me. I’m never wrong.”

I laughed at him as he took his spoon in hand. Peter hadn’t even scooped up a spoonful of his Sno-Cone when our attentions were drawn to the Sno-Cone camper by the sound of a child’s crying. Peter and I stood, my spoon halfway to my mouth, and watched as a child pulled at his mother’s hand and cried about some travesty that was probably more of an inconvenience than anything. After a few moments of listening, it became clear that Peter and I had been given the last of the vendor’s Tiger’s Blood syrup.

And that was precisely the flavor the child had wanted.

My eyes caught Peter’s and he gave me a wink. I watched as Peter stepped over to the mother and her child, explaining that the two of us had gotten the last of the Tiger’s Blood. After explaining to the mother that he hadn’t touched his Sno-Cone, he offered it to them. Gratefully, the mother thanked Peter as the child gleefully took the treat from him. Offering to reimburse Peter, which he declined, the woman continued to praise him as he made his way back to me, waving her off playfully.

I had nothing but a huge smile for Peter when he returned to me. He shrugged and turned to look out at the lake, sighing happily.

“You don’t have a Sno-Cone now,” I said.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve had Tiger’s Blood before.”

He patted his stomach.

“It wouldn’t help this anyway,” he added.

“Stop that,” I said.

He shrugged again and chuckled.

“You’ll be a very good father one day,” I said. “That was incredibly sweet. Letting him have your Sno-Cone.”

Peter didn’t look at me.

“Do you want to have kids one day?” he asked.

Grinning, I dug into my Sno-Cone and stuffed a spoonful of the icy treat into my mouth before responding.

“Of course,” I said. “At least one child. Maybe two? I’ve always wanted to be a father. I suppose that is weird since…since I’m twenty-two…but I would love to have children. I hope I will be a good father.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth curled up slightly, but he still didn’t turn to me.

“I don’t want any kids,” he said simply.

Halfway to my mouth with another spoonful of red ice, my arm froze. I found myself staring at the side of Peter’s face. He continued to stare out at the lake with its rising and falling layers of glistening golden diamonds.

“I’m pretty sure anyway,” Peter said. “I’m in my forties now. You know? I think—if I had ever wanted kids—that time is past. I’m accustomed to being unencumbered by things that depend on me to survive.”

Peter chuckled bitterly, and somehow, I managed to chuckle softly, too. My stomach was no longer interested in the Sno-Cone. I looked out at the lake and the golden waves. For the first time during my trip to America, I wasn’t enjoying myself. I’d made assumptions. And I’d certainly made an ass of myself. However, as quickly as sadness had overtaken me, I managed to push it away. I was on vacation after all. Peter had done so much to make my trip wonderful.

And it was just a vacation. It didn’t have to be more.

That realization made my gut ache like a rope had been tied around it and yanked downward.

It was something, though I’d ignored it since my flight had landed in America, that had been in the back of my mind. Coming to America wasn’t a guarantee of anything. It was a vacation. A chance to see a country I’d longed to visit for my entire life. A chance to spend time with a wonderful man I missed every day I wasn’t near him. But it held no promise other than that. Forced into remembering that caused my stomach to sink.

“Would you like to share?” I asked, holding my Sno-Cone out to him.

Peter turned to assess me cautiously.

“And get your germs from the spoon?” he said finally. “How disgusting.”

Leaning in to be discreet, I grinned evilly at him.

“After what you did over there,” I nodded towards the beach, “I think the spoon is safe.”

Peter couldn’t help it. He laughed uproariously before reaching for my spoon.