The moon was full, casting light onto the icy water in the retention basin. Our breath puffed out in white clouds in front of us. “Well,” I acknowledged, “some things do.”

He turned toward me, pulled the blanket up around our ears, and I felt the pad of his finger under my chin, lifting my face toward his. He kissed me lightly on the lips. His lips were surprisingly warm. I’d expected drool and other gross stuff, but this was anything but gross. My lips parted, wanting more.

He said, “Have you never done that before?”

I blushed. “It’s obvious?”

He laughed softly. “No. But you looked surprised. Like you didn’t expect it.”

“I’m surprised I enjoyed it so much.”

He looked confused. “You thought kissing me would be disgusting?”

“No,” I backpedaled, blushing more. “I… Forget it. You can do it again.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. He leaned in and kissed me, still gently, but with tongue this time. Eventually all those shivers went away, and it was entirely too warm. He lowered me back on the wooden floor of the playhouse as we each grew bolder and the kiss became deeper. We started to feed on each other’s lips until I was pretty sure we’d tear them clean off.

But we didn’t do anything else. His hands stayed firmly on my shoulders. Every so often he’d pull away and trace a line down my cheek, or look into my eyes. But he concentrated solely on my lips.

After a while, I pointed to his watch. “What time is it? I’d better go in.”

He shrugged.

Punching him, I grabbed his wrist and thrust the watch into the moonlight. I could barely read it because the face was badly scratched. It said something like 3:15. Kissing him had been magical, but I didn’t think I’d lost complete track of time. Then I saw the second hand wasn’t moving. “Your battery’s dead.”

“Hasn’t worked since I put it on. It’s my dad’s. He had it on when he…”

Declan cleared his throat, and it sounded as though he was trying to choke back a sob. His body was tense. The butterflies that had been fluttering in my stomach became cinder blocks. Before, I’d never thought much about how his father had died. Yet I really wanted to know. “Was he sick?”

“Car accident.” The words were so soft it was as if he’d traveled to a faraway planet. Long moments passed before he squeezed my hand.

Right. His faith had gotten him through. I guessed that if his dad hadn’t died in a car accident when Declan was thirteen, his mom never would’ve been on the internet looking for companionship. And Declan and I never would’ve met.

It was his death that made this moment possible. Beauty from suffering.