She was waiting for him. Booted feet hanging off the end of the dock, hands lightly perched on the wooden planks behind her. A mostly-full bottle of gin at her elbow and some roast beef sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. Buffy Summers didn't make sandwiches for just anyone.

At the sound of his feet, she glanced back over her shoulder and tossed a soft curl of hair out of her eyes. "The stars are out," she said. Simple.