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“Can I please take the blindfold off now?” I ask as my hands reach up to tug at the piece of fabric wrapped around my head.
"Nope." Ryland's voice comes immediately from somewhere just to my right, accompanied by the gentle swat of his hand away from mine. "Absolutely not, you're violating the terms of the surprise."
“I never even agreed to these terms,” I say, turning to “look” in his direction. “Plus, when you put the blindfold on, you tied in some of my hair.”
I fumble with the knot behind my head, trying to loosen my hair from the fabric. However, with the lack of vision, it’s making it incredibly difficult, and Ryland doesn’t seem too keen on helping out.
“Oh, I thought you liked it when I tugged your hair?” He jokes, and I can just hear the smirk in his voice.
I reach out, leaning over the center console to punch his shoulder, or at least I think it’s his shoulder. Either way, he makes a small wounded sound before grabbing my wrist and lowering my hand back into my lap. His fingers stay wrapped loosely around my wrist for a second longer than necessary, warm and steady against my skin.
“You’re so violent sometimes; it’s incredibly endearing,” he says softly, giving my cheek a quick kiss. It’s enough to make me jump.
“Okay, Ryland, the car is literally parked; you can take the blindfold off now,” I huff out a breath, my patience beginning to thin. Though none of the frustration is towards him, well, not directly at least, but instead at the fact that he’s taken me to this secret location and hasn’t given me any hints to where we could possibly be.
And I’m dying to know.
The two of us go out on dates quite frequently, but usually that just means dinner somewhere and then going back to the apartment to watch a movie. The whole being blindfolded in a car thing is new for us.
“Fine, fine, fine, but hold on,” I can hear the click of his seatbelt being unbuckled. “Just don’t move yet.”
“I couldn’t move even if I tried,” I deadpan, folding my arms against my chest as his door closes.
Seconds later, the passenger door opens, and though I can’t see anything, I know for a fact that this man ran around the front of the car as fast as he could. I feel him reach across my body to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Okay, grab my hand; I’ll help you get out,” he says, shifting around.
“Ry, I can’t see your hand,” I reply, hating the way a smile instantly lights up my face.
“Oh, right.”
The sheepish laugh that escapes him is immediate, and I don't even have to see his face to know exactly what expression he's wearing—that crooked, self-conscious smile that always appears whenever he realizes he's said or done something profoundly stupid. He tries to hide it, but I think it’s adorable.
I feel his fingers brush the back of my hand as the sunlight pouring through the open door warms my skin. I flip my hand over, allowing him to lace his fingers through mine. I give his hand a small squeeze as he helps me scoot toward the edge of the seat, his grip firm as his empty hand finds its way to my waist for support.
After all this time, being close to him still has an effect on me.
It's ridiculous, honestly.
We've been together long enough that I feel like I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. Obviously. As much as I try not to let it show, every time he kisses me, touches me, or even casually rests a hand against my back, it feels like my entire body forgets how to function for a second. My heart speeds up without my permission, warmth creeps into my cheeks, and suddenly I'm hyperaware of every point where we're touching, no matter how small.
So I know for a fact he can see the blush that creeps up into my cheeks, coloring the skin just beneath my blindfold.
His hand remains steady against my waist as I carefully shift my weight toward him. The movement brings us impossibly close for a moment, my shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as I duck beneath the doorframe. Even through the layers of our clothes, I can feel the warmth radiating from him, and the familiar scent of his laundry detergent mixed with coffee lingers in the air around us.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's a little step."
"I've got it," I reply, though the words come out quieter than I intend.
"I know you do."
Once both my feet hit solid ground, Ryland places both his hands on my waist and gently pulls me forward a few steps, making sure I'm completely clear of the car before the door swings shut behind me.
“Okay I’m gonna take this off you now,” he says, giving the blindfold a light tug. “But before that…”
His hands leave my waist.
I feel the sudden void where his warmth was, and for a split second, I actually miss it. Then, his palms slide upward, cupping my jaw with a firmness that stills my breath. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, tracing the heat of the blush I can’t hide.
Before I can mutter a grumpy retort about how long this is taking, he leans in.
The kiss is soft—slow enough that it steals the complaint right out of my mouth. I melt into him almost instantly, a quiet gasp escaping me as my fingers find their way into the soft hair at the back of his head. He smiles against my lips, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough that I can feel it, and somehow that makes my heart race even faster.
Maybe it's the blindfold, maybe it's the fact that every other sense suddenly feels heightened without my sight, or maybe it's just Ryland.
Either way, the rest of the world seems to disappear. There's only the warmth of his hands cradling my face, the familiar scent of coffee lingering on his clothes, and the impossibly gentle way he kisses me like he has nowhere else he'd rather be.
Just as my lips begin to part, cool air brushes across my forehead. Without breaking the moment completely, his fingers slip behind my head and loosen the knot. The fabric slides upward, the darkness lifting with it as sunlight floods back into my vision. I blink against the sudden brightness, my eyes taking a moment to adjust.
Ryland is still standing impossibly close, his hands resting lightly against my cheeks. He's smiling exactly the way I'd imagined he was—a little sheepish, a little smug, and completely, hopelessly in love.
"Jesus," I mutter, still a little breathless. "You know you could’ve warned me instead of weaponizing our little make out session.”
He chuckles. “But where’s the fun in that?”
“That’s the point,” I roll my eyes. “There’s no—”
My gaze happens to drift from him, taking in our surroundings.
We’re standing in a parking lot.
Rows of cars stretch out in every direction, baking beneath the afternoon sun. A few groups of people wander around, their conversations drifting lazily through the warm afternoon air. Car doors slam shut somewhere nearby, shopping bags rustle, and the distant rumble of traffic rolls past just beyond the edge of the lot. Every few seconds, another family crosses in front of us, children weaving impatiently around their parents as they point excitedly toward something behind me.
“Ryland…” I look back at him. “This is a parking lot.”
His smile doesn’t leave his face, if anything, I think it grows just a bit.
“Correct,” he says with a single, enthusiastic nod. “This is the parking lot.”
Without saying another word, he closes the small distance between us again. His hands return to my waist with an easy familiarity, warm through the fabric of my shirt, and before I have the chance to ask what he's doing, he gently turns me around. It's an unhurried movement, almost playful, guiding me in a slow half-circle until I'm facing the direction he'd been so carefully keeping hidden from me. He stays close behind me, his hands still resting lightly against my sides as if he wants to make absolutely certain I'm looking at the right thing before he gives me the chance to react.
My eyes follow the lines of the parking lot toward the massive building sitting at the far edge and the giant sign that reads Musem of Science.
Behind me, Ryland doesn't say a word.
He doesn't have to.
I can practically feel the excitement radiating off him as he waits for me to piece everything together, his hands still resting lightly against my waist as if he's afraid that speaking too soon might somehow interrupt the moment. He's been waiting for this reaction ever since he tied the blindfold over my eyes, and judging by the barely contained grin I can feel more than see, I'd say it's unfolding exactly the way he'd hoped.
“You brought me to the science museum?” I ask, my lips curving into a smile before I can stop them.
Ryland lets out a quiet, relieved laugh behind me, his hands tightening on my waist as he pulls me back against his chest. His chin comes to rest lightly against the top of my head, and I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he lets out a long breath, like he'd been holding it ever since we pulled into the parking lot.
“Oh, you’ve heard of it?” He asks, his voice vibrating through my body.
I let out a disbelieving laugh, the sound escaping before I can stop it.
Slowly, I twist in his arms until I'm looking up at him instead, and the expression on his face is almost enough to make me laugh again. He's trying so hard to look casual, but the excitement shining through him is impossible to miss. His eyes are brighter than they've been all day, his smile is so wide it's threatening to take over his entire face, and there's an unmistakable look of anticipation behind it all.
He's been waiting for this exact moment, waiting to see if I'd recognize it, waiting to find out whether he'd managed to surprise me.
"You ask that," I say, unable to hide my grin, "like you haven't spent the better part of our relationship trying to convince me this is one of the greatest places ever built."
“Which it is, for the record,” he adds. “But there’s more, I swear. Because don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking, and that’s totally valid. Why would he take me to a science museum when I know nothing about science? I completely understandable question, but hear me out.”
I raise an eyebrow as my smile grows.
“Okay, first of all," he says, holding up a finger, "you don't know nothing about science; you know bits and pieces from the many lectures and explanations I’ve given you over the past few years.”
“I suppose there might be some things I’ve stored away,” I admit, tilting my head as though I'm seriously considering it. “I mean, I know what an exoplanet is now. And spectroscopy. Sort of.”
“See? Exactly!” he says, pointing at me like I've just proven a scientific theorem. “That's exactly what I'm talking about.” He nods enthusiastically, his hair bouncing with the movement. “And as for the second thing…” His grin turns almost impossibly smug, the kind that immediately tells me he's been keeping another secret. “I kind of planned something.”
He lifts his hand, gesturing toward the museum behind me. “It's in there.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You're telling me the blindfold wasn't even hiding the surprise?”
“Oh, no, that was just transportation.”
“Ryland Grace, you’re insane,” I whisper as my hands find their way up to his face, cupping the soft skin of his cheeks.
His grin immediately softens. It doesn't disappear—it never really does—but it melts into something gentler, something so undeniably fond that it makes my chest ache. He leans instinctively into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest second before opening again. One of his hands slips from mine to rest over my wrist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing slow circles against my skin.
"I've been called worse," he murmurs through a smile.
He laughs quietly, the sound warm and familiar, before carefully lifting one of my hands from his cheek and pressing a gentle kiss against my knuckles. The gesture is so absentmindedly affectionate that I don't think he even realizes he's done it. His fingers linger around mine for another second before intertwining them completely, giving my hand a small, reassuring squeeze.
"Come on," he says, his excitement returning almost instantly. "We're going to miss our window."
“Our window?”
“Well, look at that, I’ve already said too much,” he winks as he tugs me towards the museum entrance.
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“If you look here,” Ryland says, resting one hand lightly against the edge of the interactive display while the other points toward the glowing animation projected onto the screen, “you’ll see that the Moon's orbit isn't a perfect circle. It's slightly elliptical, which is why the distance between the Earth and the Moon changes throughout the month.”
The exhibit in front of us is almost mesmerizing. A glowing Earth rotates slowly in the center while a smaller illuminated Moon circles around it, the room dim enough that the shifting phases stand out brilliantly against the dark backdrop. Every few seconds, a beam representing sunlight sweeps across the display, causing the Moon to morph into new phases.
Around us, children crowd around the nearby exhibits, taking turns spinning cranks and enthusiastically slamming giant illuminated buttons while parents trail after them with tired smiles.
Ryland, meanwhile, is entirely in his element.
“If you watch this part,” he says, leaning over the display with the enthusiasm of someone showing off their favorite movie scene, “the Moon isn't actually changing shape. It only looks that way because we're seeing different portions of the sunlit half.”
“Right…” I say, looking at the display, then back to him, then back to the display. “I think I might be a little lost.”
“Okay,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a laugh. “That one's on me… but wait,” he quickly rounds the display and puts his hands on my shoulders, moving me a little to the left. “Don’t move.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sure thing, Professor.”
His head whips around so fast I'm surprised he doesn't give himself whiplash. One hand flies dramatically to his chest as though I've just delivered a fatal blow.
“There are children present,” he says in an exaggerated whisper, glancing around the exhibit hall. “You can't just go around calling me that, you know what that does to me.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, continue.” I laugh softly.
“Well, now I'm distracted,” he says, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he drops his hand from his chest as he moves closer to me. “You can't just spring that on me in the middle of an explanation; now I’m… feeling things. Things that the moon should never make me feel.”
I just look at him for a second.
“Have I ever told you that you’re kinda cute when you’re flustered?” I whisper.
“You have, actually,” he says, a helpless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But I can literally promise I'll never get tired of hearing you say it.”
“Is that so?” I ask as he leans in to press a fleeting kiss to my forehead.
“Mhm.”
His answer is muffled against my skin, barely more than a content hum before he pulls back just enough to look at me again. His hands, which had somehow found their way to my waist in the middle of all this, remain there absentmindedly, his thumbs tracing slow circles through the fabric of my shirt as though he doesn't even realize he's doing it.
“I've accepted it,” he says with a small shrug. “I've accepted that I'm apparently incapable of keeping my composure around you.”
I tilt my head. “That sounds like a pretty serious condition.”
“Yeah, you know I’ve looked into it, extensively. And the current conclusion is that theres simply no cure…which is obviously a shame.”
“Oh, wow Ry, that’s awful,” I tease. “I'll keep you in my thoughts.”
“I appreciate your support during this difficult time.”
I pat his shoulder sympathetically. “You're so brave.”
“I've been told.”
A quiet laugh escapes me as I shake my head. Then, almost instantly, something shifts. His smile doesn't disappear, but his attention suddenly drifts somewhere over my shoulder. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as they catch on something across the room. The playful expression on his face is replaced by one of concentration, like a thought has suddenly barged its way to the front of his mind.
He freezes. "...Wait."
Before I can ask what he means, he takes a small step backward, one hand already digging into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out his phone with an urgency that feels wildly out of place compared to the conversation we'd just been having. His thumb flies across the screen.
"What are you doing?" I ask, watching his eyes dart between the display and whatever's on his phone.
“Hold on, one second,” his brows furrow. And then, “Oh okay, phew… we’re good.”
“Okay what’s going on,” I ask, watching him slip is phone away.
He presses his lips together, and I recognize the expression immediately. He's trying not to spoil something, and it’s driving me crazy.
“You know,” he says carefully, “there's a very delicate balance to planning a surprise.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. You want the other person to know just enough that they're excited, but not enough that they figure it out before you get there,” his hands fly through the air as he speaks.
“And?”
“And right now, you're asking questions that threaten that balance.”
I cross my arms. “So you're not going to tell me.”
“I am.”
“When?”
“In approximately...” He glances toward the ceiling, as though the answer might be written somewhere above us. “...three minutes.”
“Three minutes?” I graon.
“Give or take.”
Before I can launch into another round of increasingly desperate attempts to extract information from him, Ryland reaches for my hand. His fingers weave through mine with practiced ease, and the moment they're intertwined, he gives me a gentle but unmistakably eager tug.
“Question time is officially over, now you just have to follow me,” he says over his shoulder as he drags me through the exibhit.
“Ryland, will you slow down,” I plead, as we weave between displays. “I think you almost took out that family.”
“Collateral damage,” he says with a smile, quickly glancing back at me.
He gives my hand another gentle tug, and I allow him to continue pulling me through the museum. At this point I've completely surrendered any hope of figuring out what he's planned before we get there. Every time I think I've gathered enough clues to make an educated guess, he changes direction, checks another sign hanging from the ceiling, or mutters something under his breath that only makes the mystery worse.
We pass towering dinosaur skeletons stretching toward the ceiling, a room filled with glowing chemistry demonstrations, and an enormous kinetic sculpture suspended overhead that twists and spins with hypnotic precision. Under any other circumstances Ryland would've stopped at every single exhibit, happily explaining each display until the museum closed around us. Today, though, he barely spares them a glance. Whatever he's leading me toward has his full attention.
Eventually—after quite a few close calls with wandering children, one near collision with a volunteer pushing a cart of supplies, and at least three separate occasions where I have to yank Ryland slightly to the left so he doesn't walk directly into another family—we reach the far side of the museum.
The atmosphere changes almost immediately.
The bright lights of the main exhibit hall fade into a softer glow, and the constant chorus of excited voices becomes muted, replaced by quieter conversations that seem to echo gently through the hallway. A deep navy carpet stretches beneath our feet, absorbing the sound of footsteps, while the walls gradually darken until they're painted to resemble the night sky, tiny pinpricks of light scattered across them like distant stars.
At the end of the corridor stands a pair of enormous double doors beneath a curved ceiling. Above them, illuminated silver letters spell out a single word.
Planetarium.
I come to a stop so abruptly that Ryland has to stop with me, and for a moment, I just stare.
I've heard him talk about planetariums before—more times than I can count, honestly. Usually it starts with some random fact about stars, spirals into a story about constellations or exoplanets, and somehow ends with him insisting that sitting beneath a projected night sky is one of the coolest experiences a person can have. Every single time, I'd smile, nod along, and let him ramble, even if about ninety percent of it went over my head.
I'd never actually expected to end up in one.
Slowly, I turn toward him. He's already looking at me. Not at the doors., not at the sign…at me. He's studying my face with that adorably nervous expression he gets, one that I’ve completely fallen in love with. His shoulders are just a little too tense, his smile just a little too restrained, like he's trying not to get ahead of himself before I've actually reacted.
I don't think he even realizes he's still holding my hand. His fingers remain intertwined with mine, his thumb absently brushing across my knuckles as though he's grounding himself just as much as he's grounding me. The smile that spreads across my face happens before I can stop it.
"Oh..." I breathe, looking back at the doors before meeting his eyes again. "Ry."
His entire face lights up. "You remember what a planetarium is?"
I let out a quiet laugh. "Ryland Grace, you've spent years enthusiastically explaining space to me." I narrow my eyes. "Of course I remember what a planetarium is."
“Oh thank god,” he smirks. “Well then, um, after you.”
He reluctantly releases my hand just long enough to reach for one of the heavy steel doors. It swings open with a low mechanical groan, and almost immediately a wash of cool, blue light spills into the hallway around us. The bright museum beyond disappears behind the doorway, replaced by darkness so complete that it takes my eyes a second to adjust.
The room beyond is breathtaking. The ceiling rises impossibly high above us into a perfect dome, washed in deep shades of midnight blue that make it almost impossible to tell where the walls end and the ceiling begins. Tiny points of light shimmer overhead like distant stars waiting for night to fall completely, while faint ambient music drifts quietly through hidden speakers, soft enough that it feels more like part of the atmosphere than something I'm actually hearing.
Curved rows of reclining seats fan out beneath the dome, each one angled toward the ceiling as though inviting people to forget about the floor entirely and simply look up.
He follows a half-step behind me, allowing the heavy door to ease shut with a muted thud that seals away the noise of the museum almost completely.
“Ryland... oh my god,” I breathe, my voice barely louder than a whisper as my eyes slowly travel across the dome overhead.
The artificial stars sharpen as my vision adjusts to the darkness. Thousands of tiny pinpricks of light glitter against the curved ceiling, some burning bright white while others glow with faint hints of blue and amber. Wisps of projected starlight stretch between them like the beginnings of constellations, and for one impossible moment it genuinely feels as though the roof has disappeared entirely.
But I force my eyes back down to Earth.
Ryland’s hands have disappeared into the pockets of his jeans, but I can still see the excitement practically vibrating through him. There's something unbelievably fond in his expression, mixed with an almost childlike eagerness, like he's been waiting all day to bring me here and is now trying very hard not to blurt out every fact he knows before I've had a chance to simply take it in.
"This is..." I trail off, shaking my head with a quiet laugh. "I mean, this is beautiful."
I watch him purse his lips as he prepares to deliver one of his classic Ryland Grace cliché lines. I can practically see the words forming before he even says them. His eyes flick from me to the stars overhead, and then back again.
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, it’s not as beautiful as you.”
Oh Jesus Christ.
I bring both hands up to cover my face, peeking at him through my fingers. "That was the cheesiest line I have ever heard in my entire life."
His grin only widens. "I know, I was saving it just for this exact moment.”
He finally slips his hands out of his pockets. For just a moment, he hesitates, almost as if he's debating whether or not to close the distance between us. It's a rare flash of uncertainty from someone who spent the entire afternoon orchestrating this elaborate surprise.
Then he gives in. He crosses the few steps separating us with that familiar, slightly awkward gait of his, his eyes never leaving mine. The closer he gets, the more the playful confidence fades into something a little more genuine.
"I just..." He lets out a small breath through his nose, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before finding mine again. "I felt like I needed to do something special for you."
The teasing smile slips from my face. "Ry..."
He shakes his head before I can interrupt, almost embarrassed by his own honesty. "I know we don't really need grand gestures," he says with a soft laugh. "Honestly, I'd be perfectly happy if our dates were just ordering takeout and watching documentaries until we fall asleep on the couch." His shoulders lift in a small shrug. "Which I mean, they usually are."
"They are," I agree with a laugh.
"And I love that, but..." He glances around the planetarium, his eyes catching on the stars stretching across the dome overhead. "You've spent years listening to me ramble about this stuff."
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Ramble?"
"Fine." He smiles, almost looking embarresed. "Enthusiastically lecture."
"That's more accurate."
"You've listened to every weird fact I've thrown at you, pretended to understand half the diagrams I've drawn on napkins, sat through approximately eight hundred conversations that started with, 'Okay, this is actually really cool—'"
"It was definitely more than eight hundred."
"My point is..." He steps the last few inches closer until we're standing almost chest to chest. "You always listen. Even when I know I'm being a complete nerd."
"You are a complete nerd."
"I know,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around my waist as he pulls me closer until we’re practically pressed against each other.
"But I happen to love nerds.”
Without another word, I rise onto the front of my feet, one hand sliding from his shoulder to the back of his neck as I gently close the remaining distance between us.
My lips find his in a slow, lingering kiss, which he returns almost instantly. One of his hands slips a little higher against my back, spreading between my shoulder blades as though he can't quite bring himself to let me drift too far away, while the other remains securely at my waist. He sighs softly into the kiss, the sound barely audible beneath the quiet ambient music filling the dome, and I swear I can feel him smiling.
When we finally pull apart, neither of us moves very far.
His forehead comes to rest against mine, our noses brushing together as we both catch our breath. For a long moment, neither of us says anything. We simply stand there beneath an artificial sky full of stars, wrapped up in the quiet, the blue light painting soft shadows across his face.
The he smiles—the kind of smile that means absolutely nothing good is about to happen.
"I think..." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Our relationship has reached astronomical proportions."
I stare at him. "...Ryland."
"And I'd say my love for you is—"
"Don't."
"—out of this world."
I groan loud enough that it echoes around the dome.
"Ryland Grace,” I say, looking up at him. “I hate to admit it, but I am deeply in love with you.”
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