It was July 2020, and we needed a break. We packed up for a two-night stay in a small town east of Austin known only as being on the BBQ trail. His back hurt from moving a tank of liquid nitrogen. She was tired from the drive. So there they sat, on the front porch of a house in the middle of nowhere, looking up into the night sky. “I think that’s Venus,” he said. “I think you’re right,” she said.