Annabelle reached between our seats and grabbed my hand in hers and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. “I know they’re not really shooting stars,” she said. “It’s actually a meteor shower.”

Her hand felt right pressed into mine. It occurred to me that I’d never had this natural rapport with a woman before. It was astonishing and rather delightful.

“I heard about it on KJZZ today,” she explained. “They said tonight was the best night to view the meteors because the moon is just a crescent, but that you had to get out of the city to really be able to see. I’ve never seen one before, and I didn’t want to miss it, so I borrowed Nyah’s Jeep.”

“Who is Nyah?”

“One of my hot tub friends,” she said. There was mischief in her voice, and her grin was a slash of white in the night. Irresistible.

I rose up out of my seat and leaned over her. Then I kissed her. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around my neck and returning my kiss measure for measure. The taste of her, the scent of her, which reminded me of apple blossoms and honey, filled my senses and sent them swimming, mostly south. Reluctantly, I pulled back and collapsed into my seat.

“You know, you didn’t have to drive us all the way out here to see the stars,” I said. “Every time I kiss you, I see stars.”

“Oh, Nick.” She sighed. “I feel the same way.”

We were both silent, as if processing the truth that whatever was between us was something special. It occurred to me that it needed to be handled with extra care. I wasn’t sure I was up to the task, given my history of short unemotional hookups, but I knew that for Annabelle I wanted to try.

“Hey, Nick,” she whispered. “Have you made a wish yet?”

“No, have you?”

“I’ve made a dozen,” she laughed. “Your turn.”

I glanced up and sure enough, in a matter of seconds, a skinny blaze of light shot across the sky. I closed my eyes. I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be normal again, I wanted my body to stop giving out on me, I wanted to be who I used to be . . . my thoughts stopped right there.

Would the old me have let Annabelle drag him out of his house and drive him out into the desert to look at shooting stars? Nope. The old me would have been busy making deals, working angles, getting what I wanted when I wanted it with a piece of arm candy hanging on me that was as much a testament to my success as the Rolex I wore or the sports car I drove. It hit me then, like a closed fist to the temple, that I didn’t want to be that guy anymore.