The sun was gone The last light of day faded as pink hues and lilac glimmers. The night sky slowly darkened as ultramarine, reaching, spreading.

Beckett stood, stretched, and picked up their plates to carry to the kitchen counter. Luna followed. Beckett filled a dishpan with suds and warm water and dropped the dishes in. Luna said, “Let me wash, I love bubbles!”

“Only because you love the bubbles. It is your birthday after all. I’ll dry.”

Beckett and Luna did the chore side by side. Her arm touching his. His hand brushing along her fingertips. Chatting about nothing and everything while they worked.

Finally, Beckett dropped his dishtowel to the counter and deposited the last dish into a box labeled ‘mess’.

Luna dumped the dirty dishwater over the side of the Outpost.

It was fully night now. The corner lights were on, spiraling and turning, signaling that the Outpost existed, jutting up out of the sea, still, and shouldn’t be crashed into by boat or paddler.

Please don’t. Don’t.

Luna was watching the lights spin and frolic in apparent opposition to their intent: caution, warning, command, when Beckett interrupted, “Do you like to dance, Anna?”

“Who, me? Why, you do?”

“Sure, on the mainland we do all the time, and I was thinking you and I ought to, especially under an epic sky like this.”

The sky, while they washed up after their meal, had filled with stars, creating a canopy that out-sparkled the blaring signal lights. He leaned to a stack of equipment in the corner, pushed buttons, and a song began. “Have you heard this?” The sound of acoustic guitar flowed from the speakers.

Luna shook her head.

“This is Blaise Portnoy. He’s popular right now. I saw him live once.” He held out a hand, with such intent in his eyes, that Luna’s heart skipped, then sped up.

“Um, I don’t know how.”

Without dropping his gaze, or his hand, he asked, “Can I teach you?”

Luna had passed the point of being able to talk. She nodded and somehow, though disconnected from the thought processes that usually moved her body parts, got her hand to his.

He swooped his other arm to her waist and pulled her in…close.

She giggled.

With his cheek pressed to her hair and her body hugged, he walked her backwards, out of the kitchen to the middle of the rooftop.

The sky was epic. Beautiful. Stars flung from one horizon to another. Or, because it was difficult to see the horizon, and with the stars reflected on the sea, it was like the whole up and down and all around was encrusted with stars. Music lilted.

Beckett said, close to her ear, “This dance is called the two-step-rock. Just rock back and forth like this.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “One and a two, one and a two. Then you roll out on my arm like this,” he flung her out and away. “Look in my eyes—good—and then one and a two, one and a two. Now wind back to me.”

Luna rolled in, pulling up, wrapped in his arms, her back to his front. A breath of warm air tickled her ear as he said, “One and a two, one and a two.” He switched hands and then rolled her out and away on his other arm. “And one and a two, one and a two,” and then she returned to rock in his arms. “One and a two, one and a two,” he whispered close to her ear, “it goes like this, indefinitely,” causing Luna to feel dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the twirling.

The song ended and silence filled the Outpost. Beckett lingered, his mouth at the edge of her dark hair, just above her ear, her hands in his, both of them rocking back and forth to the echo of a song that no longer played.

His voice resonating, he asked, “What did you think?”

Without letting go of his hands, Luna raised their arms turning in place to face him, front to front, a wide, electrified, quarter-inch apart. A quarter-inch that caused him suffering, so he shifted forward, closing it by an eighth. Another song began, a slower song.

She spread her arms out slow and down, bringing his with them, mirrored, less speaking, more breathing the words, “I like. Am I doing it right?”

Beckett pulled her close, rocking her in a slow uncomplicated circle. “Yes.”

Luna wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in.

Beckett sang a line in her ear.

As he sang she pulled closer, pressing.

They rocked and spun and turned and occasionally he pulled away and spun her down his arm and while she was away, they looked deep into each other’s eyes, mirroring, concentrating, watching, until she returned with a twirl, nestling into his arms again.

Finally, the third song ended.

It was like he woke up. Beckett panicked. What was he doing? He was supposed to be unemotional, distant, detached, and here he was completely utterly totally attached. He wanted to take her to bed, to carry her home, to make her his—

He dropped his arms, stepping back. “So that’s dancing, mainland-style.” He rubbed the palms of his hands all around on top of his head, looking right and left, anywhere but at Luna. Backing away, he said, “It’s got to be getting late. I wonder what time it is?”

“Beckett?”

“Hold on, I’ll check the time. You’ll want to sleep before—”

“Beckett. What are you talking about?”

Beckett said, “I’m just—I want to make sure—”

Luna stepped forward, really, dizzyingly close, and looked up into his face. “What?” asked like another breath.

“I shouldn’t. I’m not supposed to.”

“Yet here you are and here I am.” Luna placed her hands into his, entwining his fingers around.

He said, “I promised you that it was okay, that you were okay.”

“Yes, you did promise.” Luna pulled his hands behind her back, stood on tiptoe, and gently kissed him on the lips.

His hands let go, his arms slipped around, and he half-lifted her, weightless, pressing his lips to her mouth. They kissed long and slow.

Then Luna slid down and gently tugged him toward the wall. “Come see the water, Beckett.”

He followed her to the edge—her knees against the low wall, him standing behind. He wrapped his arms around, hugging her in, holding her back from—

She said, “When you’re on the water at night, and it’s still like this, I can’t tell where the water ends and the universe begins, and isn’t it really all the same thing, anyway? Dust and water flung through space and—”

Beckett had no answer, his lips were focused on the steady thrum of the pulse on the soft edge of her neck, and he couldn’t be bothered with one more second of—he turned her and kissed her harder, his tongue playing between her lips. Then he asked, “Can we step away from the wall now?”

She smiled and walked forward, forcing Beckett backward, returning to the middle of the rooftop.

There they kissed again, this time deep, their lips open, their tongues glancing and playing. Beckett’s hand was in the back of Luna’s hair, the other on the small of her back. Her hands were between his shoulders pulling him down and on and further and in.

Beckett pulled away. “Anna, are you going to spend the night with me?”

She asked, “You mean, again?”

He said, “No, I mean, really?”

Luna smiled, “I knew what you meant. And yes.”

Beckett, fingers in her hair, kissed her lips for their perfect answer. Her hands were on his elbows bringing him closer until Beckett pulled back. “Just a moment. Can you wait right here like this?”

He jogged away and returned hidden behind an armful of bedding, including pillows, blankets, and his great grandmother’s quilt. He dropped the pile on a chair, and in unison Beckett and Luna each took up the opposite edges of a blanket, unfurled it, and laid it flat. Then they placed a blanket on top and then another. Beckett tossed two pillows at one end of the square and Luna dropped the quilt on top. And then...and then.

Suddenly they were awkward.

The first kiss: done. Second kiss: done. An agreement had been struck. A bed, made. Beckett pulled her in for another kiss, yet in their excitement—or tense intensity—neither one knew how to drop from standing to the floor. Luckily, Luna’s stomach growled, audibly. She giggled.

He appraised her at arm’s length. “You’re hungry?”

“You would think two plates of chicken Alfredo would be enough, but I must be growing.”

Beckett teased, “But, you’re nineteen today.”

“I’m also Waterfolk, we have longer growth cycles.”

“Would you like more dinner, or rather should I say, second dinner?”

“I believe that there was my dessert stomach signaling for a tad of something.”

“I’m not big on dessert, but let me rustle something up.” Beckett disappeared into the kitchen. He called out, “Do you like chocolate?”

Luna called back, “Who doesn’t like chocolate?” She dropped to the bedding, wrapping the quilt around her legs.

He reappeared saying, “Me, that’s who,” carrying a chocolate bar and sitting down in the bedding, facing her, knee to knee. He presented it with a flourish.

Luna tore open the paper and broke off a segment. “Yum, milk, my favorite.”