“Of course you were. And I was a housewife raising our three children: Eliza, Mathilda, and…”
“Rex, after our pet dinosaur.”
“REX?” I screech. All of the happy nervousness jumps out of me at once; I burst out laughing and can’t stop. I am delirious. Luke laughs with me for a minute and then calms himself and stares in awe as I curl into a ball and nearly hyperventilate. By the time I’ve composed myself, I have tears streaming down my cheeks, and my stomach muscles ache.
“That funny, huh?”
Residual giggles sneak out of me as I unfold myself and smooth the blanket back across my legs. “Pretty funny,” I agree. “Or maybe I’m just easily amused.”
“Cheap date,” he teases. I lean over and playfully punch him with my left hand, which he grabs and holds for safekeeping.
“You’re surprising,” I say, looking to the sky.
“How so?” he asks.
“Most guys don’t make up stories like that,” I say quietly, thinking of the boys and men I will encounter in my lifetime. “Especially not guys who look like you.”
“Well, most girls who look like you are prom queens,” Luke says, matching my tone. “But you seem to avoid the spotlight. You have one good friend, and you do your own thing. I like that about you.” He kisses my knuckles and it sends a spark through me.
“Where did we live?” I ask softly, gently removing my hand so that I can lie flat and get comfortable. I scoot even closer to his side, if that’s possible. “Let’s see… I believe we lived in… Ireland.” I’ve answered my own question.
“Oh, right,” Luke agrees, clearly okay heading back to make-believe. “And we farmed potatoes.”
“We were busy,” I murmur, feeling exhausted. The emotions, the laughter, the warmth of Luke’s body, it’s all weighing me down now.
“Yes, we were. Very, very busy.”
“I had red hair,” I continue, so comfortable I feel like I’m in my own bed. Of course, Luke wouldn’t be there with me, so I’m glad I’m here.
“You have red hair now,” he says.
“I think I’ll always have red hair.”
“I hope so. It’s one of the best things about you.” Luke’s words are garbled and I’m spellbound by the even tone of his voice and the vast blackness of the universe above.
“Thanks.” I speak in a barely audible tone.
Luke’s breath is even now, and mine falls into step with his. I am thankful for this day, this boy beside me, and this blanket keeping us warm.
A distant question forms in the depths of my mind.
What time is it?
The question is fleeting, flitting, pushed aside by a more prevalent and wonderful thought: I think I’m falling in love.
No, I know I am.
I’m falling in love with Luke.
I close my eyes from the sheer mass of it all, just for a moment.
For a few moments.
For a while.
And now, I’m in Ireland.
I’m in the Ireland I’ve seen in movies, at least. Standing in a gargantuan green field with a short stone wall marking perimeters too far off to reach, I know this is our land, Luke’s and mine. The tiny stone cottage behind us with the smoke billowing from the chimney is ours, too. Beside me, Luke wears a thick ivory wool sweater and a plaid scarf, and he smokes a pipe.