Page 88 of No Hope of Rescue

“Were you scared?”

I shake my head. “We were too dumb. We knew enough not to touch them. They just hovered and then floated away and disappeared. Ball lightning. That’s what it’s called.”

“This is going away too,” she says, her mouth in a small pout.

The Auroras have almost faded completely.

“But look over there,” I say, pointing east.

The sky is lighting up, turning a faded pink.

“How late is it?” she asks.

“You mean how early is it?”

“Welcome to the new day!” she calls to the trees and sky.

She’s got one hand on my forearm. As she speaks, her eyes are closed, and her tilts to the sky. She swallows. I lean over, cup the back of her head, and kiss her. First at the base of her neck, then up one side to her lips. Here, I linger for a long time.

Her breath is warm in my mouth. She trembles slightly. “Oh my God,” she says in a whisper.

I unzip the fleece and slip a finger under the strap of her dress. She stands still while I trace the curve of her chest until I can cup her breast. Her nipple is hard under my thumb.

Her chest is narrow. This means I can support her back with both hands while rubbing my thumbs on her nipples. Her skin, exposed to the cold, prickles with goosebumps. She arches and presses her pelvis against mine.

“Brock.” My name escapes her lips like a promise.

I dip and kiss her again, and she opens my parka, fumbling with the zipper and then spreading it wide enough to slip her hands inside it and my suit jacket. There she opens my collar, undoes several buttons, and deftly leaves the tie unknotted but dangling.

Her hands, still warm, trace my pecs, and then she buries her head in my chest.

This is it. As she wraps her arms around me, she pulls back.

The sun has nearly arrived in full, and Blue Jays and chickadees twitter in the background.

A new day will begin like any other—except this day will be special. This day, like all days, begins the rest of my life. The difference is that it will, with luck, begin the rest of our lives.

“I packed us a Weston breakfast,” I say and pull her away from me. She shivers again, and I pull the fleece up around her.

“Thank God,” she says and smiles again. “I’m starving.” She rises on tiptoes to kiss me once again, and I have to grip the edge of the window to stay focused.

I point to the pack in the corner. Now that it’s dawn, she can see the small table I set up with dishes and the cookstove in the corner. A pack sits next to the stove. While I set a grill inside the stove, I direct her to grab food from the pack. Minutes later she’s pouring hot coffee from a camp thermos. A four pack of eggs appears, a wedge of butter, and then the paper bag.

“Those are croissants. Hand them to me, and I’ll warm them up on the grill.

She reaches into the bag and then freezes. “What have you done?”

“What do you mean?”

She quickly pulls out a small black velvet ring box. “What is this?”

Still squatting by the stove, I grin. “Open it.”

Suddenly, her hand starts shaking. “I can’t,” she says, holding it out to me.

I turn slightly, grasp her wrist, and open the box.

Inside is my mother’s engagement ring—the one my father gave to her. The one she always wore. Until now. Until she gave it to me two weeks ago when I spoke with her about proposing to Riley.