"That sounds nice."
"Yeah. It can be."
"When was the last time you went?"
Anthony looks out to the ocean. "I think it was around Christmas."
It's July now. I swallow, looking down at the lit candles. My parents would be heartbroken if I didn't want to remain in close contact with them. So would I, for that matter.
"Anyway," he says, reaching for one of the skewers and turning it over in his large hands. "I imagine our childhoods were pretty different."
"You mean mine wasn't s'mores-deprived?"
His lip quirks. "Right. You probably sat at the campfire every summer evening with your loving parents, surrounded by a pack of well-trained dogs, and grilled s'mores."
"You make it sound so idyllic."
"Wasn't it?" he challenges.
I skewer a marshmallow. "Sometimes it was like that. There were certainly always dogs around."
"And your friends," he adds, "who your parents treated like their own kids. You were popular in school. But not in the cliquey kind of way, no, everyone just wanted to be your friend, and you found everyone interesting. "
I look at him, and he looks back at me, an eyebrow raised. "Am I wrong?"
"Not really, I suppose. I don't know if everyone wanted to be my friend, but I was friendly with most."
"That's a yes, then."
"Think you have me all figured out?"
"I had you all figured out the first day I met you."
I laugh. "Glad to be such a mystery."
Anthony doesn't laugh. He lowers his skewer instead. "You are, though. The mystery is how you do it."
"How I do what?"
"How you manage to stay happy, and optimistic, and willing to see the best in everyone."
"Right," I murmur, looking down. "And birds help me dress in the morning."
He knocks my marshmallow with his own. "Hey, I'm not mocking you. I know I've teased you about it before, but Summer… your optimism is genuine. That's the way you see the world. It's impressive. It's a complete fucking mystery to me how you do it, but it's breathtaking."
I meet his gaze, dark and earnest. I don't think a man has ever looked at me the way he does. Like he's trying to memorize my every feature. "I'm not always happy."
"I know," he says. "But you're always genuine."
"An open book, or so I've been told."
"You let people see you, Summer. That's strength."
This time, I reach out and take his hand. He flips his over and long fingers tighten around mine.
"You should let people see you too," I murmur. "Because you're amazing."
Anthony looks down at our intertwined hands. His thumb makes a slow, sweeping arc over my palm. When he speaks, his voice has dropped. "The more time passes, the more difficult it feels to… well. I know I have to tell people in my life about my vision. Fuck, of course I know that, Summer. But that will make it real. As long as I'm the only one who knows, I can pretend it's not happening."
My heart aches with the need to reach out and hug him. To say that everything will be okay. I sit still instead, listening. Bearing witness to his pain.
I think he needs to be listened to.
We talk as we eat s'mores, slow and haltingly. Anthony swears when molten chocolate escapes down his fingers and I can't keep from laughing.
"They're good," he admits. "Messy, and simple, but good."
"They're a summer thing, like watermelon and mosquito bites. You have to have them at least once."
He grimaces and pushes away the half-empty bag of marshmallows. "I can live without the mosquito bites. Come here, join me on this side."
I shift over to his side of the patio and sit next to him. There's a soft sweep of fur against my bare leg and I glance down. Ace is splayed over Anthony's feet, his face tucked against Anthony's ankle.
Thick as thieves.
"He loves you," I murmur.
Anthony looks down at my dog. A smile plays around his lips. "He's a good dog."
"They really are man's best friend."
"Yeah," he says, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am. About guide dogs. "They are."
I nestle against his side and he snorts, lifting his arm and draping it over my shoulders. The night is beautiful, warm and calm, the ocean a soft sigh against the nearby shore.
"I love this place," I say.
Anthony's hand moves over my shoulder. "Then I'm glad I got it."
My heart feels full of love for more than just his house, but I don't say it. Not yet. The knowledge settles like warm honey in my stomach.
I rest my head against his shoulder and look up. The moon is a barely-there slice in the sky, surrounded by friends, their faraway light shining down on us in tiny pinpricks.
"Do you know any constellations?" I ask. "I've never been able to pick out anything apart from the Little and Big Dipper."
Anthony doesn't answer right away. When he does, his voice is thoughtful. "I can't remember the last time I saw the stars."
"You mean…"