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But now, he wasn’t really fitting, no matter how hard I tried to close the lid on him. I couldn't entirely merge the * he pretended to be with this guy quietly enjoying the tranquility of nature. The vapid self-obsessed typically don’t appreciate much except their own reflections in the mirror. He, on the other hand, was complicated. And I didn’t like complicated; I liked my mental storage boxes – clearly labeled, organized, and easy to handle.

Though unspoken, it was clear that we weren’t leaving until I’d satisfactorily appreciated his river vantage point. I studied the view from our perch, which hung about thirty feet above the riverbank, and had to agree that it was calming – soothingly beautiful in a way that only the outdoors can be. The ceaseless flow of the inky river numbed my mind and as I focused on my surroundings, I quieted the relentless worries racing around my head. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t focused on the approaching anniversary of my mother’s death; my mind was blissfully clear.

There was no light out here except that cast by the nearly full moon and the stars above, infinite in number and even more beautiful than they appeared from my rooftop at home. After a few minutes of silent appraisal, I began to understand why this place was so special to Finn.

It was his rooftop.

That abruptly led to another thought – why had he brought me here, to his sanctuary? He barely knew me. How could he know I’d even enjoy something like this? I certainly couldn't imagine him taking one of his bimbo-groupies all the way out here.

“Why did you bring me here?” I whispered, reluctant to break the quiet that had descended on us. He looked over at me, his dark eyes trapping mine immediately, almost hypnotically. Long seconds dragged by as his gaze burned into mine, unblinking; I wanted to look away, to break from the intensity of that look, but somehow I couldn't. His eyes flashed briefly down to my mouth before returning to stare into mine. I gazed back guardedly, trying to discern his intentions.

I thought he wasn’t going to answer me at all, but after several more heartbeats he cleared his throat and finally fractured the silence.

“I just knew you’d get it,” he said, shrugging and finally moving his penetrating stare back to the river below. “You get me.”

I didn’t like his answer. It implied a level of understanding, of closeness, that we didn’t share. He didn’t know me; no one did – not my closest friend and certainly not my father. Finn was dangerous, I decided. Perceptiveness was not a quality I encouraged in those I spent time with.

I grew uneasy, the tension I’d cast off when we’d first arrived slowly creeping back up my spine and reclaiming its viselike grip. Finn seemed to sense my growing unease, suddenly pointing down the riverbank to divert my attention.

“Fireflies,” he said, drawing my gaze to the glowing orbs darting through the grassy fronds that lined the banks. A small smile curled one side of his mouth up as he watched the phosphorescent bugs light up the sky. “They’ll be gone soon.”

“Why?” I asked.

“They’re only ever out in the summer months. This is probably one of their last nights, it’s getting too cold.” A soft laugh slipped between his lips. “I used to catch them in glass jars when I was a kid, just to look at them up close for a few minutes before letting them go. I’d sit out in the field behind my house all night, waiting for them to appear. Sometimes they didn’t. But when they did, it was like magic, you know? Like a sign that there was something more out there for me, and maybe if I was patient enough I could have it.”

I watched the lightning bugs in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to say. I was stunned that he was opening up to me; I hadn’t asked him to, nor did I intend to reciprocate. I didn’t do the whole heart-to-heart, lets-bond-over-our-troubled-childhoods thing. But I was curious.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a nature lover,” I said, eyeing his tattooed bicep.

“Less about nature than it was about escape, Brooklyn. I’d imagine you’d understand that better than most.” He leveled that intense stare at me again and I quickly looked away. This boy saw infinitely too much about me, and I’d barely said a word about myself.

We didn’t speak again as we made our way back to Finn’s bike, and I couldn't help but feel that something had changed between us, as we stood together watching the fireflies glowing one final time in the dying heat of August. As I slipped my arms around his waist, I knew, without a doubt, that I would have to stay far, far away from him after this night. I could handle the carefree, bantering Finn I’d encountered before, but the guy who’d brought me here was an entirely different creature. I didn’t know how it was possible, but he could read me, see me, in a way no one had ever been able to do.

Finn kept his initial promise of dessert, driving back toward campus and pulling into a small homemade ice-cream parlor a few minutes from my house. We licked our cones on picnic benches outside, and he effortlessly slipped back into the funny, overly-sexual lead singer he’d been before our time at the lookout point. We bantered easily and laughed about Lexi and Tyler’s evolving relationship, pushing aside any memories of the charged interaction we’d shared in the darkened woods. It was surprisingly fun; Finn was easy company, as charming as his heartbreaker status required him to be. But I couldn't quite forget the look in his eyes as he’d watched the fireflies in the darkness, no matter how hard I tried.