Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,49

doing?’ I ask. I can now see he’s in the middle of assembling a portable camera tripod.

‘Err, shouldn’t that be my question?’

‘I followed you.’

‘Yeah, I guessed that part,’ he says wryly. ‘Just not the part about why.’

‘I saw someone lurking behind the motel, so I wanted to check it out.’

‘Lurking?’ His voice travels out over the water. ‘I was walking from my house to the reservoir trail. No lurking about it, if you don’t mind.’

‘So it was you I saw walking out here on Friday night as well?’

‘I thought you might have seen me. Your bedroom light was on as I was coming down the hill from my place. You appeared at the window and I hesitated. Then the light blinked off so I kept going.’

‘I followed you that night too.’

Raf laughs. ‘Seriously?’

‘I wanted to know who it was,’ I say. ‘But I stopped at the beginning of the walking track because I got spooked.’

‘It can feel a bit creepy out here sometimes. All that fades into the background once I get started, though.’

‘Night photography?’ I ask, glancing at his equipment again.

‘Night sky photography, specifically.’

‘So you really do have a new hobby,’ I say. ‘I thought that was just an elaborate ploy to get me alone at the bush hut.’

Raf guffaws, a bit too loudly. ‘There was no way I was bringing my camera gear out in that storm. And anyway, after I got there we sort of talked about … other things.’

My cheeks grow warm. Thank god it’s dark.

The truth is, we did talk. For hours. Raf had brought pizza leftovers and a couple of beers he’d snuck out of his mums’ bar fridge in the garage. We sat cross-legged on the threadbare rug in the bush hut and talked about school and Netflix and what kind of dessert pizzas we could invent if Sally and Liv gave us half the chance. It’s amazing how much you can babble on about while you’re nervously anticipating a kiss that may or may not happen.

‘So you come out here a lot?’ I ask.

‘I have to make the most of the new moon phase because that’s when the sky is the darkest. But look, it’s already waxing crescent.’ He points out the sliver of moon suspended over the reservoir like a white banana, its twin rippling below it on the surface of the water.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s halfway between a new moon – when the moon is invisible – to the first quarter, when about half the moon is visible. Once it gets that bright the conditions aren’t as good for star photography.’

‘So the moon is a problem?’

‘Only if I want to photograph stars. It’s the hero when I want to take photos of moon craters.’

‘You can do that?’

‘I’m still learning’, he says. ‘This time next week the moon will be waxing gibbous, which is my favourite phase. You can see most of the moon except for a segment in shadow. Like the opposite of tonight.’ I’ve never seen him so animated about a topic. ‘And you get this curved edge that feathers off into darkness, throwing all the craters into relief. The detail can be incredible if you know how to photograph it successfully … which I don’t. But I’ll be out here trying to figure it out.’

I take a closer look at his set-up, his DSLR and tripod. ‘I should have guessed you’d be into something like this with all those sci-fi novels and movies you’re obsessed with.’

‘What can I say? I’m an astronomical nerd.’

‘You got that right,’ I say, and we both snigger.

‘Come back next week, if you like,’ he says. His voice is quieter, almost coy. ‘I mean, you’ll probably be out here stalking me anyway since you seem to love it so much.’

‘Har har.’ I whack him lightly on the arm. ‘I guess I’m a sucker for astronomical nerds.’

Silence falls between us. Raf scrapes his shoe awkwardly against the rock.

‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ he says. ‘About … you know. The bush hut. Are you ashamed of it?’

I think about that night, how Raf found every reason to keep shifting closer and closer to me on the rug, how a lapse in conversation prompted a quick glance between us that hummed with mutual attraction. When I asked, ‘Do you want to kiss me?’ Raf laughed nervously into his lap before leaning in, his tentative peck morphing into a kissing-until-our-mouths-ached, hands-under-T-shirts make-out session. It was the most satisfying answer to any question I’ve ever asked, and all I