“This time I won’t go away,” John said.
Isabelle stood up. “So let’s rejoin the party, friend.”
But when she tried to draw him to his feet, he wouldn’t budge. Instead he pulled her gently down beside him on the bench again.
“I’d rather stay here with you for a while,” he said, putting his arm around her.
Isabelle smiled. She settled into a more comfortable position, head leaning against his shoulder, legs stretched out in front of her. When she looked up, the sky was filled with stars the way it always was on the island. It was as though the normal pollution of city lights had been washed away for this one night by an aura of enchantment—an enchantment springing from the collective spirit of goodwill, rising up from the party below and being generated, here on this rooftop bench, between John and herself.
“So would I,” she said.