“There will be no dick penetration.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, circling the desk as though he’s casing the joint for clues. “So, are we opening it? Or are we just gonna admire the sexy packaging?”
Maya perches on the edge of the desk. “You’ve got thatI’mpretending to be mad but also weirdly giddy and freaking out internallylook. Very on-brand for you.”
I cross my arms. “It was a mistake. A lapse. We had too many cocktails and a moment of weakness. I’ve rebooted. I’m fine.”
Jeremy throws his arms out. “Oh dear Lord, open it.”
I sigh, untie the ribbon, and lift the lid.
Inside is a delicate glass orb swirling with flecks of indigo, violet, and silver. It’s a bottled night sky.
There’s a tag attached:
Our stars will never fade.
Maya snatches the accompanying card and unfolds it. Her eyes skim it. “Oh. Ohhh.”
“What?” Jeremy leans in.
Maya reads the card aloud. “March fifth. Five forty-seven p.m. This was the night sky the moment everything splintered. When the universe cracked open and let light slip through. We were tangled in other lives, but sometimes things fall apart to make space for the unexpected. For someone worth the break.”
Silence.
Total, stunned silence. Because that day burns through my veins like acid.
Maya’s brows lift. “It’sveryMr. Darcy meets NASA.”
I blink, trying to find words that don’t exist.
Jeremy swallows then says, “If that’s not emotional terrorism, I don’t know what is.”
“Yeah but what’s the date?” Maya asks.
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
Open it again, heat crawling up my neck. “It’s the day my dad died.”
Maya’s head snaps toward me. “Wait. What?”
They stare at me.
“I had just bombed the Stanfield pitch,” I say softly. “I ran into Nolan that day. It was the first time we’d ever seen each other.”
Jeremy stares at the print, reverent. “Okay, I take back every slanderous thing I’ve ever said about straight men. This is the shit.”
Maya clutches her chest.
“So this afirst metstar map?” Jeremy asks. “Not a post-dry-hump star map?”
“Apparently,” I mutter.
“Oh no, that’s actuallyworse,”Maya says.
“So much worse,” Jeremy agrees, eyes wide. “That’s not just romantic. That’s soul-bond-level.”
