Page 72 of Fake As Puck
“This is perfect,” she says, looking out at the lake where other boats are starting to gather for the fireworks.
“Yeah, it is.”
“I wish...”
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Come on. What do you wish?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel her thinking about whether to tell me whatever she was going to say.
“I wish this could last longer,” she says finally. “This day. This feeling. All of it.”
“It doesn’t have to end.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Not tonight. Tonight we can just... be here.”
“Be here,” she repeats, like she’s testing the words.
“Yeah.”
“I like that.”
At nine, the first firework explodes over the lake, a burst of red and gold that reflects off the water and makes everyone on the deck cheer.
Liv immediately tightens her grip on my arm, pulling me closer, and I realize she’s using the fireworks as an excuse to touch me more.
Which is fine by me, because I’ve been looking for excuses to touch her all day.
“Ooh,” she says as a particularly impressive firework lights up the sky. “That one was beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” I say without thinking.
She turns to look at me, and in the glow of the fireworks, her face is soft and open and perfect.
“West.”
“Yeah?”
“I...”
Another firework goes off, and whatever she was going to say gets lost in the noise and the cheering from our friends.
But she doesn’t look away from me, and I don’t look away from her, and for a moment it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
Like this isn’t fake.
Like this is exactly what it looks like.
“The grand finale’s starting,” she says, but she doesn’t turn to watch it.
She stays looking at me while the sky explodes in color and light and our friends cheer and clap around us.
And I think: If this is fake, I never want real.
