Chase laughed. The trails around the lodge were so familiar, she could traverse them with her eyes closed, and nothing about the mountains at night concerned her. “I have excellent night vision—in fact, I wouldn’t ordinarily use a flashlight unless I was hunting for something, or someone, in the scrub. Night is my favorite time, really. Growing up, I’d sleep outside whenever I could, no matter the season.”

Lily slowed. “Really? I mean, what about snow?”

“Winter nights are when the sky is the best, usually—black and clear—and the constellations are closest. Some of the best ones, anyhow. Warm enough in a decent sleeping bag, as long as you get out of the wind. In the summer, when the nights got steamy, I’d just toss an old blanket on the ground. Still do, whenever I can.”

“Why night?” Lily asked. “Why is it your favorite?”

Chase hesitated. How could she explain how the night was tied to her best memories? How listening to the night sounds and watching the stars revolve overhead brought her back to a time before loss taught her to be wary of trusting joy. One of the first things her father had taught her about the beauty of the night was the constellations. Reclining beside her and pointing out the formations, he’d told her the stories, the ancient myths, behind each one. With the dark close around them and his quiet, sonorous baritone turning the night sky into a canvas of wonder, she’d been happy without ever realizing how precious the moments were until he was gone.

Avoiding the answer, Chase slowed at the crest of a moderate decline and reached out for Lily’s hand. “It gets steep here, and with the dew on the pine needles, it can be slippery.”

She felt more than heard Lily’s gasp of surprise when their fingers touched.

“Thank you,” Lily said, clasping Chase’s hand. “I came down here this morning with Sarah, but everything seems different now.” She laughed quietly. “Bigger, somehow. And I feel a lot smaller. In fact, every time I look out anywhere, I’m reminded just how insignificant I am out here.”

Chase smiled. “Once you get used to feeling part of what’s around you, that might change.”

“You don’t think you have to be born to it to belong?”

“Not if you’re willing to really look,” Chase said. “It’s not much farther now.”

“Oh,” Lily exclaimed as, suddenly, the trees gave way to the shoreline. “The lake is so…perfect.”

“That’s a good word for it,” Chase murmured, watching Lily, who was far more enchanting to look at than even one of her favorite views. Lily’s face shone as if lit from within, her lips faintly parted, her eyes, normally so green, flickering like firelight now. Seeing Lily’s pleasure was a pleasure in itself, a new experience for her. She’d always enjoyed pleasing women physically, finding unique satisfaction in the intensity of the moment, even as she felt safely apart. But she’d never shared a moment like this—when Lily’s appreciation of something so precious to her felt like a gift.