Emily lay her cheek against my shoulder, and I turned my face so I could breathe in the scent of her skin. The song came to an end, and we danced to the next one, and then the next, collecting as many moments as we could. And when the music began to slow, the batteries dying, we both stopped moving, staring into each other’s eyes as the last drawn-out note faded into silence. Emily lifted her chin and looked up at me, her eyes sad, though her lips were tipped. “I imagined we would have rented a room in the hotel and gone up there after the prom.”

“What would we have done there?”

She kissed my neck, her lips lingering. “How about I show you?” she whispered against my skin.

We got back in bed, sharing our memories and laughing about pranks we’d pulled and fights we’d had. Then we made love again, exploring each other leisurely until the candle burned out.

We stayed at the ranch in the middle of nowhere for three days, a brief respite from the uncertain world, a celebration of survival, and a sharing of hearts. We ate food from the pantry, but took as little as possible, mindful that this family might return. Hoping that they would. We tended to their horses and replenished what we could from the stable. We made coffee over their firepit and watched the sun rise behind the hills. And we danced in candlelight. Those hours were sweet, and dreamlike, and I knew no matter what came next, those three days would forever be seared into my soul.

My Emily. My wildflower. The thorn in my side. A silken-voiced troublemaker. Little Showboat. She was kind and unpredictable and slightly wild, even if she’d let herself be tamed for a while. But for that stretch of time, she was completely and utterly free. We both were.

We cleaned up their house, and then Emily wrote a note, leaving it on their kitchen counter next to the school trip itinerary. I stopped and read it as Emily did a final check of the rooms upstairs.