Page 36 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“Well,” he said, “I guess you can’t argue with logic.”

I held the Sno-Cone for Peter as he dug in with the spoon and took a healthy bite, moaning with appreciation as the ice slid over his tongue. When he dug out another spoonful and held it out to me, I accepted the bite and smiled as the colored ice chilled my lips and tongue. It slid down my throat to my belly, adding to the block of ice resting there.

As Peter had said, the stars were infinite and gorgeous as we lay in bed that night, holding each other under the covers and staring through the wall of glass. My back was against the headboard and Peter was laid against my chest, his arms around my middle. Trailing my fingers through his hair, combing through the field of fiery silk, we were basking in the afterglow.

After our day at the beach, Peter and I had showered and dressed in more appropriate clothes for dinner. We went to the brewery to find a raucous, but friendly, local crowd watching a game on the flatscreen televisions on the walls. Peter had a local beer and I discovered that he could easily get lost in watching and discussing sports as well as anyone else in the bar. Though I had no interest in sports—American or otherwise—it amused me to see Peter’s eyes light up as he watched the game and exchanged commentary with other patrons of the brewery.

Though he’d talked to other people at the brewery, he had paid me plenty of attention, and I was unoffended. I had more fun watching him enjoying his beer and the game more than I would have enjoyed talking.

After his beer, Peter somehow pried himself away from the game, actually saying “goodbye” to several of the strangers he had become friendly with during our short time in the brewery. After a short drive—during which Peter tried to explain sports things to me and failed—we arrived at a local restaurant that served local specialties. Specifically, fish was the main offering on the menu. Never one to enjoy fish or seafood much, I ordered a burger and fries, which was always a safe bet when I dined out.

Peter had fish and chips and coleslaw, though I was unsure what species of fish had been battered, fried, and thrown onto a plate with fries. Peter enjoyed it. That was all that mattered. The food was simple, yet delicious. Though it was nothing extraordinary, it was nice to eat at a local restaurant instead of going to a chain owned by a conglomerate.

When dinner was over, Peter drove us to the lake and we sat on the rocky shore again, holding hands, cuddling, and watching the sun give its final “hurrah” for the day. Then we went back to the hotel, and wordlessly, fell into each other’s arms. Then the bed. And we did the thing that we had both grown to crave from each other numerous times a day.

Save one thing, it had been a perfect day.

“You’re upset,” Peter said softly, his lips fluttering against my chest.

“I’m not.”

I wasn’t sure if I was lying.

Though I was unsure how Peter was aware. I’d done my best to forget our brief discussion over our shared Sno-Cone. I’d been as cheerful as possible all evening. I hadn’t mentioned anything about our time at the Sno-Cone stand since it had occurred.

Peter ignored my protest.

“I’m older than you, Enzo,” he said. “Maybe I’m settled in my ways? Who knows? I wanted to be honest, though. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

“I’m definitely not mad,” I kissed the top of his head.

“But you’re upset.”

“Disappointed.”

He nodded against my chest.

“Is it that important to you?” he asked, almost whispering the question. “To have a family?”

“It is,” I said. “I’m pretty sure.”

Again, he nodded.

“Now what?”

“Maybe,” I said, “we should simply enjoy the remaining days we have together? We shouldn’t think of it. It will ruin the rest of our vacation together.”

“Enzo—”

“It’s okay,” I said. “This has been the best vacation of my life. That’s good enough. You know?”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Peter said. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

We were silent for a moment.

“I could change my mind,” Peter said. “It’s just too early with us that—”