And had forgotten he had given her.

“Okay,” said Dave, and he accommodated Rhonda by turning the painting around so she could hopefully see what he had painted for her. And, as he did, that strange lightness continued to grow inside him. And Rhonda felt it grow inside her again, too. This time it made her feel like she had even more fireflies dancing around inside her. And she felt bright—and light as air. And she started moving closer to the painting. And she wanted to know so badly what it was that Dave had painted for her. But she had no idea what it was. And so she started guessing again, and asked “Is it raspberries?”

“Nope.”

“Apples?” Rhonda kept coming closer to the painting.

“Nope.”

“A big open-faced strawberry rhubarb pie?”

“Nope.”

Rhonda suddenly took the painting from Dave and looked at it. And then she looked at Dave and grabbed him and kissed him hard, letting the painting drop as she did. And it landed on the floor faceup. And Dave worried about it getting damaged for a split second but then realized he didn’t care about the painting at all anymore, and he kissed Rhonda back.

And Rhonda pulled away from Dave for a second, gasping a little as she did.

And all the hearts and all the veins and all the arteries that were on the porch were pounding.

“Are you okay?” asked Dave, checking in with Rhonda.

“Shh,” said Rhonda, not wanting to talk. And she grabbed Dave and kissed him again, hard and fast.

And then she pulled away again, her breathing labored.

“You sure you’re okay?” asked Dave.

“Yeah,” wheezed Rhonda, trying to catch her breath. But she couldn’t. So she closed her eyes and bent over and pressed her hands against her knees and tried to regulate her inhalations and exhalations.

“Hey, easy,” said Dave, rubbing Rhonda’s back.

And then Rhonda opened her eyes—and realized that she was standing directly over the painting, and she gasped again.

“What’s wrong?”

And Rhonda crumpled to the floor and picked up the painting as she did and cried, “I see it!”

Dave joined her on the floor and asked eagerly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Rhonda inhaled sharply again, overwhelmed, and said, “It’s a hhh…” The hhh sound she was making turned into laughter. Because she didn’t have to say what Dave had painted for her, because Dave knew what he had painted for her. And what he had painted for her—was beautiful.

As beautiful, even, as the northern lights that were hovering in the sky above at that moment.

“I see it!” Rhonda said, her breathing starting to normalize.

“It’s nice,” she said, looking at Dave. “It’s really nice.”

“Thanks.” Dave felt all hot. And light.

“It’s good!” Rhonda said, looking at the painting. And then she looked at Dave and said, “You’re good at this!”

“Yeah, well, you are good at this.” And Dave kissed Rhonda again, the painting getting squished between their bodies as he did.