Much later, when they were lying face to face, out of breath and sweaty, entwined on the bench, he smiled again. Freely. She smiled too, and traced the hard edges of his face with her fingertips, memorizing not just the sight of his face but the feel of it as well.
"I missed you, you know," she whispered.
He wrinkled his brow, and she smoothed it with her fingertips. "When? You mean since the night by the lake?" he asked.
She shook her head as much as she could while lying down. "No. I missed the boy I met the summer I was seven. The one who knew things about clouds. I haven't seen him in years and years, and I thought he was gone." And her fingers brushed the skin along his cheekbones. "But he isn't. I see him, sometimes. When you don't realize you've let your guard down."
He was suddenly embarrassed, tense. He hadn't meant to show his emotions so openly, even to her. He stood and dressed quickly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered hoarsely, not meeting her eyes.
She nodded. "I think you do. Over winter break, I want you to think about it. Because that's what I love in you."
He grabbed his sweater and left.