Summer of Supernovas by Darcy Woods

is palpable.
    “But I can’t introduce you to my mom. She…” Instinctively my head tips to the stars; I force it down. Just get it over with, Wil. Say it and be done. “When I was six, my mom left to get syrup for pancakes and never made it home. Another car swerved into her lane going pretty fast—ended up hitting her head-on, so…”
    So she died within minutes. The accident was fatal for both drivers. And even though I’ve repeated this story countless times with dry eyes, this time—it’s a little too raw. Too real. As if I feel the crushing impact of the collision, my own heart rate dropping, my own body shutting down. I close my eyes, willing myself not to go there. Because the destination is pointless and changes nothing.

    Seth’s thumbs glide back and forth over the backs of my hands. The silence stretches. “So now she’s up there,” he finishes softly, tilting his face up before gazing back to me. “I’m sorry, Wil. I didn’t know—”
    “Hey,” I cut in, giving his hands a final squeeze and then letting go. “It was a long time ago, Seth. I mean, I miss her—of course I miss her. But I always know where to find her, you know?”
    He folds his arms in a quiet contemplation that I suspect won’t last. Because in my experience, once you’ve answered one question, it opens the floodgates to a whole lot more. “Still, must’ve been hell on your dad and—”
    “I wouldn’t know. Never met him.” My fingers trace the groove of a heart carved in the wood rail. “And please don’t do that, Seth. Don’t look at me with pity. Gram is more than most people will get in a lifetime.”
    Seth stands there, mute and unmoving. Can I blame him? What could he really say after I dropped a bomb like that?
    Bending to scoop up a handful of pebbles, I sigh. “I think this is what is referred to as a buzzkill. I’ve officially killed this date. At least your nose is intact.” I chuck the pebbles one by one in the river. They break the surface with faint bloop s.
    “You didn’t kill anything,” Seth murmurs, coming to stand beside me. “And I can’t argue about your grandma, cause…well, I have a feeling she’d whoop my ass for talking back anyway.”
    I sniff. “She would.” My lips form a shadow of a grin.

    “You gonna hog all those?” He nods at the pebbles.
    And just like that, his simple boyish gesture…makes me feel like a simple girl again.
    I tilt my head as I regard him. “I like you, too, Seth Walker.” I offer my handful of pebbles. My face warms and my heart thumps in double time as the atmosphere charges with my admission. Suddenly I can’t meet his gaze anymore and become absurdly fascinated with the Snickers wrapper on the ground.
    Seth’s hand curls around my wrist, reeling me toward him. He bends until our lips almost touch. “I really want to kiss you, Wil Carlisle.”
    “O-okay.” I lick my lips. “So, you don’t want the pebbles, then?”
    “No,” he whispers. “I’d rather have you.” And Seth presses his lips to mine.
    The heat slowly creeps through my body.
    I welcome it. No more cold, or fear, or isolation. This is meant to be. I have never been so sure of anything.
    Somewhere I register the clatter of those little stones. But I’m just so damn elated by the feel of his lips, I don’t recall how my hand finds its way to his neck, or how it knows to go there in the first place.
    My back presses against the wooden rail as he presses his body to mine. Seth’s mouth is even softer than his hands, and has the lingering flavor of chocolate and custard from the éclair we shared. I taste France and fantasize—it is not the Opal, it is the River Seine that rushes along the bank. And before I can imagine the drab yellow streetlights of Carlisle as ornate Parisian gaslit ones…the kiss is over.

    He pulls back, but doesn’t let me move away. “You know what I’m thinking?”
    “I…I taste like éclairs?” I ask. Which is quite possibly the world’s