Page 84 of Trip Me Up

“All of them, as was her due.”

“She sounds greedy.”

“They were happy to bask in her presence, honored by her notice.”

Niall scooted closer, eliminating the space between us. “Now look up.”

The moon was a pale sliver on the horizon. Everywhere else was stars, glittering against the inky blue-black of the sky.

I’d never seen so many.

In my ear, he whispered the names of the constellations and wove their stories together. I knew them; I’d drunk them up during the mythology unit in ninth grade. And Marlee, Tyler, and I had gone out stargazing one night at Corona Heights Park. But Niall infused them with drama, with excitement, with heartbreak.

In between stories, he twined his fingers with mine. He stroked the inside of my wrist. He kissed my ear, my neck, my temple. And I let him, squirming closer and closer until he tucked his arm around me and we were chest to chest, ignoring the stars and focused only on each other, our kisses languid, warming my skin despite the cold pressing down from the stars.

I pushed him flat on his back and propped my arms on his chest. The starlight illuminated his face.

“Your freckles.” My voice surprised me with its huskiness. “They’re like constellations.” I traced one on his right cheek. “This one is a rectangle.”

His arms came around my back. “That one’s a book I’ll write. For you.”

“A whole book? Just for me?”

His lips curved in a smile. “Maybe a short one. A novella. All about Lobelia.”

“Nieven’s my favorite character. Can you make it about him?”

“Of course. Anything you want.”

“This one looks like a fish.”

“A fish?” He squinted one eye. “It’s an airplane. For the tour. And for the trips we’ll make to see each other.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I pushed myself off him. “Niall, no.” An ache started in my chest.

“Yes, Sam. I want to spend more time with you. I feel something…something green and growing between us. Like the roots waking up inside the ground. Like you’ve performed an enchantment on me. And I’m not ready to let it end next week.”

For a moment, hope flamed inside the dead wood of my heart. But it sputtered and died, starved for oxygen. Niall was a poet, and I’d gotten tangled up in his words.

“You mean as your muse.”

“Well, that, but more. Sam, I—I care about you. Let me care. Give us time.”

“I like you. A lot.” I forced the words out through the thickness in my throat. “But this—us—can’t continue past the end of the tour. I’m going back to California to finish my degree. I need to finish my dissertation so I can defend it and then graduate in June.”

“And then on to that postdoc.” His gaze darted around my face like he was tracing constellations of his own. “What about your writing?”

“I…” What could I tell him without ruining his favorite place with the ugly facts about how I’d trampled on what he loved? Nothing. I could tell him nothing. “I’m done writing. But you,” I rushed on, “you’re coming back here at the end of the tour to finish the series.”

“I can do that anywhere. Including San Francisco, if you’ll let me.”

I let myself imagine it for a second. Niall, living near enough to see him every day. Not the twenty-four-seven of the tour, but dinners together. Weekends. Working on my dissertation while he sat nearby, scribbling in his notebook. The happiness I’d felt with him all day didn’t have to end.

But then he’d find out the truth. And he’d hate me. He’d despise me for dragging it out, letting him think we could ever be anything more. And no temporary happiness was worth the pain that even now clenched my heart.

“I can’t.”

His voice trembled. “So I’m good enough for a roll in the hay but nothing more?”

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