Page 15 of S'more Mountain Man

Skye smiled, clearly pleased. "It's the universe. Once you start to grasp how vast and amazing it is, everything else seems small in comparison."

As darkness fell completely, Skye gathered everyone around. The night was perfect—clear, with a new moon that wouldn't interfere with the starlight. The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a river of light, more visible here, away from city lights, than most of these kids had ever seen it.

"Okay, everyone, lie back and look up," Skye instructed, her voice soft in the darkness. "What you're seeing is our home galaxy—the Milky Way. It contains over 100 billion stars, and our sun is just one of them."

A chorus of awed murmurs rippled through the group.

"Now, who can find the North Star?"

Several hands shot up, and Skye called on a girl with braids.

"There!" She pointed confidently.

"Perfect! And why is the North Star important?"

"Because it always shows north," Tyler chimed in. "So you can navigate if you're lost. My dad taught me that."

"Exactly right," Skye confirmed. "Sailors and explorers have used it for thousands of years to find their way."

She moved between the blankets, pointing out constellations and explaining the stories behind them. The kids were rapt, asking questions and exclaiming in delight when they spotted something new. Even the parents were engaged, lying back with their children and looking up with wonder.

I found myself hanging back at the edge of the meadow, watching. Not the stars—I'd seen them countless times—but Skye. The way she moved through the darkness with confidence, her voice animated as she shared her knowledge. The way she knelt beside a shy little girl to help her spot Cassiopeia. The genuine joy on her face when a kid made a connection or asked a thoughtful question.

She caught me watching at one point and smiled, a private smile meant just for me. Something shifted in my chest, a loosening of knots I hadn't realized were there.

Later, as the kids took turns at the telescopes, Skye made her way over to where I stood.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice low. "Am I redeeming myself for the whole 'lost in the woods' fiasco?"

"You never needed to," I said honestly. "But yes. You're good at this."

"Thanks." She bumped her shoulder against mine, the brief contact sending warmth through my arm. "Will you stayfor s'mores? The kids are dying to show off their marshmallow roasting skills."

I should have said no. Should have gotten in my Jeep and driven back to my cabin, back to my solitude, back to the life that made sense.

Instead, I heard myself say, "Sure."

The campfire portion of the evening was marginally more chaotic. The kids, hopped up on astronomy and the promise of sugar, darted around gathering sticks and arguing over the optimal marshmallow roasting technique. The fire crackled and popped, sending orange sparks spiraling up into the inky sky.

"It's all about patience," Tyler instructed, demonstrating his slow-rotation method. "You want to get it golden brown all the way around."

"Nuh-uh," countered a girl with freckles splashed across her nose. "You stick it right in the flame, let it catch fire, then blow it out. Crispy outside, gooey inside."

"That's barbaric," Tyler declared.

"Your face is barbaric," the girl shot back.

"Okay, diplomatic marshmallow relations, please," Skye intervened, handing out graham crackers and chocolate. "Everyone has their own perfect s'more style."

I found myself drafted into skewer-whittling duty, carefully sharpening sticks for the kids who hadn't brought their own. The wood was soft pine, easy to shape with my pocket knife, filling the air with its fresh resinous scent. Lily sidled up beside me, watching my technique with analytical eyes.

"You're really good at that," she observed. "Did you learn in the Boy Scouts?"

"No. My grandfather taught me."

"Is he still alive?"

"No."

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