Page 35 of When Hearts Ignite

I stride to the right and lean over the railing separating us and the luxury apartments.

“It’s like a work of art. These homes. I’m just admiring the way they have proudly displayed their interiors to the world. Look at this one.” I motion to the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me, which showcase a large living room with empty white walls except for a long abstract painting of brilliant reds and blacks splashed over the canvas, and clean lines, what looks to be Scandinavian-inspired furniture artfully arranged around the room. A strategic spotlight shines on the wall art and the unique glass coffee table in the center, where instead of regular wooden or metal legs, the base is a metal sculpture of a man lifting the tabletop.

“Would you want that for yourself?”

“A spacious apartment in a safe neighborhood in the middle of Manhattan? Sure.” I sneak a glance at him, finding him staring at the living room with an inscrutable expression. “But I don’t think I would open the blinds and invite the public into my private home.”

He chuckles, the raspy sound seeming forced. “Do you know why they opened those windows? Want to take a guess?”

I don’t reply, sensing his question is rhetorical.

At my silence, he continues, “What’s beauty if you don’t have anyone to share it with? What’s a family if you don’t have people who love each other? The rich and powerful have more money than they know what to do with, but oftentimes, they don’t have anyone worthwhile to share their trials and tribulations with.”

He lets out a deep exhale. “When you’re at the top, plenty of people will pretend to celebrate with you while secretly plotting your demise. People will go to great lengths to preserve their wealth and quickly, you’ll find you don’t have anyone who has your best interests at heart. And so…” he motions to the window in front of him, “these people stay behind their locked doors and around-the-clock security team and safely invite others to admire their success, their wealth, the ultimate ‘look what I’ve got’ because if the public is envious of them, then perhaps all the loneliness and machinations are worth it.”

His shoulders are tense, stretching the tuxedo to its limit as he leans forward on the railing, his eyes still staring into the dim living room. A lock of hair dislodges from his hairstyle and falls over his face. My fingers grip the railing and I take a breath.

My heart suddenly twitches and aches, a fissure forming in its seams, and I bite my lip, my body angling toward him but still not touching, but my heart desperately wants to wrap itself around his lonely silhouette, because somehow, I know he’s speaking from personal experience.

“But that’s not true happiness…is it?” I whisper.

My face is turned toward his now, my eyes greedily absorbing every detail up close, noticing a faint shadow on his jawline where his beard is coming in, a small bump marring his otherwise perfect nose and yet adds character, the luscious black hair that looks so soft, my fingers ache for a touch to test the texture.

“No. It isn’t.”

Three simple words. Followed by a ragged exhale.

Enough for the seams of my heart to split wide open.

“Well, I hope being here with me, friend, makes you happy.” I breathe out, watching his eyes darken, his frame so still, almost blending into the surroundings.

His eyes remain on mine, unwavering. “Yes, friend. You make me happy.” Those amber pools sharpen and his nostrils flare as his lips part.

It’s almost as if he’s surprised he’s experiencing a moment of happiness.

My heart clenches and my fingers dig into the cold metal of the railing, so I don’t draw him into my arms.

At that moment, a streak of light appears across the sky, so fleeting and fast. I gasp, my hand reaching out to grab Steven’s arm before pointing toward the heavens. “Quick! A wishing star, make a wish.”

“It’s probably a plane or an asteroid,” he grunts. “There are no such things as wishing stars.”

I shove him hard at the side, reveling in the soft oomph uttered under his breath. “Be quiet. Make a wish. Listen to me.”

“Bossy.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

Before I close my eyes, I squint at him, finding his eyes fluttering shut and my heart twitches and tumbles, the bleeding from minutes ago stemmed. I bring my hands to my lips and close my eyes and make a wish, my heart clamoring inside my throat, my pulse rolling with each beat inside my chest.

A righteous rhythm, one which tells me the wish I’m making is the right one.

Fated.

A minute passes by and I slowly open my eyes, my feet bouncing on the ground, and I look to my right, finding Steven staring at me, his lips parted, an arresting expression on his face.

My smile freezes and the moment is gone as quickly as the shooting star. Steven straightens up and steps away, putting some distance between us, even though we still haven’t touched except for when I grabbed his arm to draw his attention to the skies.

I clear my throat. “Do you know how wishing upon a shooting star came about?”

His lips quirk into a lopsided smile, making him look a few years younger. “No, but I guess you’ll tell me.”

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