I can’t believe I’m headed to Palo Alto. I worked on my brother for weeks, begging me to take me with him to the Custom party. I’m 18 now, about to head off to college. I’m old enough to join him for a long weekend visiting Gray. We’re kicking off Friday night with a party thrown at the hottest, fastest growing tech company in Silicon Valley. And it’s run by the man I’ve been infatuated with forever.

The first thing that goes wrong is the plane gets delayed for four hours. When we arrive we have to head straight to the party. In my fantasies, it went differently: Brian and I would let ourselves into Gray’s apartment. I’d have time to shower and change, then make a fabulous entrance once Gray got home from work.

“Who are you?” he’d ask, both mystified and enchanted with my charms. See, that’s how much I’d have changed in the last five years. No braces, no glasses, baby fat replaced by curves, six inches taller than I’d last seen him. I’d be so transformed my brother would have to introduce me.

Instead, I pull out the dress I’ve chosen for the party in an airport bathroom and try to smooth out the wrinkles. I start to put on mascara and then give up. The lighting is so dim I’ll probably give myself a black eye.

On the car ride over I perk up again. It’s a party! In Palo Alto! With Gray! There’s still a chance at achieving that magical moment, like a rom com movie when the female lead had a makeover. She takes off her glasses and—wham—her love interest finally sees what he’s been missing all these years!

When we arrive, Brian abandons me instantly, off with hot girls. So much for my introduction. It occurs to me Gray might not even know I’ve tagged long on this trip. He might not even be happy I’m there.

I try to shrink against the wall, but I knock into someone and earn a glare. Everyone looks hipster cool, just the right amount of edge with the right kind of glasses. Brian’s over chatting up a woman wearing a top with the shoulders cut out and a purple streak in her hair.

I’m from Ohio and I feel it acutely. Nothing about me is cool. My dress is a 50s throwback style. With a cardigan sweater, I’d thought I looked retro chic.

Instead I feel like I dressed for prom. None of the women at this party are wearing dresses. It’s geek chic all the way, with sneakers and hoodies, jeans and Star Wars T-shirts. I see one slim woman in a black jumper paired with an ironic Pink Ladies baseball jacket. I see another in a skirt that flows down to her ankles and mocks my knee-length poof.

I hide behind a large potted fern. The building is mostly glass with a wide staircase arching up. A replica of one of the first airplanes hangs from the ceiling. Or, what do I know, maybe it’s actually the craft the Wright brothers first flew in? Custom has the money. Real or replica, it communicates clearly: people thought they were crazy, too. Look how far we’ve come. Welcome to the impossible future.

And I thought I’d not only blend in tonight, I’d somehow stand out and own the evening with Gray. It makes me blush. I’m so invisible in this crowd that waiters with trays don’t even stop to offer me a drink.

Wandering around the margins, I find some less grand stairs and head up, then up another flight. They lead to a door that takes me out onto a roof deck. I see a few benches and a modest patch of grass and flowers, but it’s empty, clearly not intended for use by partygoers. Thank God. I take my first full breath of the night.

The full moon shines down on me from above. I wish I had a sketch pad and could try to capture its luminescence, the craters on clear display. Standing in the moonlight, my anxiety ebbs away. I may be thousands of miles from home, but this is the same moon I’ve gazed at my whole life. Nothing really has changed. I’m still myself, and that’s a good thing.

I tip my face up, like the moon’s the sun and I’m a flower. It makes me smile.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” a deep voice I’d recognize anywhere growls.

My hand to my chest, I open my eyes and see Gray. He’s all in black, his T-shirt fitted to his muscles, his jeans slung low. He’s so much bigger than when I saw him last, four years ago. “I thought I was alone.”

“You were. Then I got here.”

He advances. I take a step back, skittish, my pulse racing. None of my imagined scenarios played out like this. Is he angry at me for trespassing?

“Are you one of the new interns?” He doesn’t sound as intimidating as before. In fact, he’s looking at me as if he likes what he sees.

As if he has no idea who I am.

I laugh, looking up at him. “No.”

“What do you do?”

I swallow. How far do I take this? Do I tell him I’m Lily? But I don’t want to ruin this moment. Not when he’s looking at me in the moonlight like I’ve always wanted.

“I’m a student.”

“What are you studying?”

“Art.”

“What kind of art?”

This is the Gray I remember, intense, driven, though never focused on me before. I take another step backwards and he follows.

“I draw.”

“You draw.” He nods, as if this answer satisfies him. “Pen or pencil?”

“Pencil and charcoal.”

“Ever paint?”

“Not usually.”

“Still life? People?”

“Landscapes, animals.”

“Rural?”

“Sometimes.”

“Let me see one.”

I laugh again, his interrogation just shy of bizarre. It would be off-putting if it weren’t for the fact that he seems riveted by me, thirsting to learn more. “I’d show you, but I don’t have my sketchbook.” I hold my hands up, completely empty. I don’t even have pockets, so Brian’s got my phone. That was probably dumb.

“You don’t have an online portfolio?”

“No.” I can’t keep the smile off my face. An online portfolio. He’s gotten so professional.

“You need to have one,” he tells me, gravely serious.

“OK,” I nod, and back right up into something hard and metal.

“Watch out.” He reaches out, his hand around my waist, stopping me from tripping and losing my balance. Hands out to his chest, I steady myself. He doesn’t let go.

He’s all muscle. The lean and rangy boy I used to know and love has grown up big. I want to run my hand down his chest, explore the ridges and planes, revel in the heat I feel radiating off of him.

“Telescope.” He looks down into my eyes as if drinking me in.

“Sorry, what?”

“You walked into a telescope.” He doesn’t move his hand, pressing into my lower back. We fit against each other like puzzle pieces. “You don’t have a drink.” He looks down at my hands, both plastered to his pecs, shamelessly copping a feel.

“Oh, no, I, um…” I fumble for an answer other than my being too invisible to merit one at the party.

“Would you like one?”

“No, thank you.” I don’t want him to leave me. I don’t want to move an inch away from his hard body, the feel of his hips, the palm of his hand. He move his fingers up to play with a strand of my hair. I may die of joy.

“That’s good. Never take a drink from a man you don’t know.”

Oh, I know you. But I stay silent, my eyes half-closing as he twirls my hair around his finger, brushing against it as if he, too, is treasuring this moment.

“Would you like to see Jupiter at opposition?”

“What?” My eyelids flutter open as he steps away. He takes my hand, leading me to the telescope.

“Jupiter’s close to earth right now. It’s brighter any other time of the year. You can see it all night.” He leads me to the telescope and positions it, adjusting the lens. “Take a look.”

He steps to the side, but keeps his hand at my waist, leading me over, guiding me into position. I wonder if he can tell how it makes my whole body quiver.

I bend down, and at first see nothing. He leans beside me, whispering in my ear. “Look for the cloud bands. Like stripes.”

“I see them!” It’s almost like magic, seeing something I’ve only ever read about in textbooks suddenly appear before me in real life. “It’s beautiful.”

“Do you see the moons?”

“Mmm, I see spots.”

“The moons are tiny dots along the edges.”

“I think, on the right.” I stand, my smile even wider than before. “That’s so cool. But why do you have a telescope here at an office? Can’t you only use telescopes at night?”

“You don’t live around here, do you?”

I smile in a way I hope is enigmatic and alluring, not evasive and suspicious. Has my question given me away somehow?

“In Silicon Valley no one works nine to five,” he explains. “We work all hours.”

“Right. Why is it called opposition?” I congratulate myself on my quick thinking, throwing him another question.

“It’s positional astronomy.”

“As if that explains everything.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his full lips. It nearly takes my breath away. “Are you being fresh?”

“I am.”

“I like it.” His hand at my waist pulls me slightly closer, his thumb stroking my side. My breath comes fast, my heart beating like a rabbit. “Two objects are in opposition when they’re on opposite sides of a sphere.”

“What sphere?”

“A sphere can define any set space. Like here, for instance.” He takes his hands away from me and I want to cry out in protest, but he uses them to make a dome in the air, as if we’re underneath an invisible umbrella. Just the two of us.

“What’s your name?” He looks down at me as if I’ve bewitched him, in our private world under the stars.

“Grace.” My middle name. A half truth at best.

I know I’m playing a dangerous game. He’s going to find out who I am sooner or later. But I can’t help myself. The second he finds out I’m Brian’s little sister, the bubble will burst. He’ll have every right to be angry. I need this to last as long as it possibly can.

One hand goes again to my waist as if he feels the magnetic pull too, as if he also knows that his hand belongs exactly there. With one finger, he draws aside my unbuttoned cardigan and finds the strap of my dress. He traces it up and down, along my skin.

“You feel so soft.” He brings another finger, with just the two skimming along my collarbone, at the base of my neck, as if he’s memorizing me. “Your skin is like alabaster in the moonlight. You’re beautiful.”

I’m twisting and hot inside, heat licking through me. He’s so large and powerful, yet touching me with such restraint. I’ve never been affected like this before.

“You’re very responsive.” He rests his fingers on my pulse, measuring my response as if he’s a doctor. I squirm, embarrassed at his discovery of how much he effects me.

“I’m just—” I search for an excuse. I’m hypoglycemic. I’m having a panic attack. Something other than you make me weak in the knees.

“I like it.” He continues his exploration, slow, fingers on my skin, making even the modest neckline feel like I’m so exposed I’m going to burst into flames. “You feel so good.”

A pant escapes my lips.

“I don’t think you should have wandered up here all by yourself.” He steps closer, his heat searing into me, the strength of his muscles against the softness of my breasts. “Anything could happen.”

I look up into his eyes.

“Do you want to leave?” He’s giving me the chance to get away, escape from whatever he has planned.

He doesn’t know I’ve dreamed about this moment over and over. This is exactly what I’ve wanted for so long.

“I want to stay.”

He makes a sound in his throat, satisfied, almost like an animal. “Stay.”