God, we’re idiots.
“I did want to kiss you then,” I tell her quietly.
“Is there something stopping you now?”
There’s not a thing in the world, so I lean down and press our mouths together, under the streetlights and the giant skeleton. Madeline arches up against me, her hands on the lapels of my coat, her body warmth soaking through the layers. It’s a quick thrill to be doing this in public, even though it’s late. The kiss goes on and on, way past propriety.
When she pulls back, I take her bottom lip between my teeth and tug, gently, just for a moment.
Madeline runs her tongue over the spot and looks pleased.
“I passed the test?” I ask, because it’s time. She’s leaving first thing tomorrow morning, and my apartment’s going to feel so empty.
“What test?”
“Thewill this worktest.” There’s a brief silence. “You were trying to figure something out, weren’t you?”
“That’s not why I came.” Now she’s frowning, a few strands of blue hair stuck to her forehead. “I came because I wanted to see you.”
“But you were making sure,” I press.
“Of what?”
I’m not sure if I know myself. I just know that half the time I feel like boards laid across mud after it rains: mostly fine, but it only takes one misstep and you’re covered in muck. I couldn’t blame someone for quality-testing first.
“Of me,” I finally say, and Madeline stares at me. I start to wonder if I’ve fucked up, if maybethiswas the test that I’m not passing?—
“I came out here so I could spend time with you.” She looks away and takes a deep breath. “That’s honestly it. I like you, and I missed you, so I drove my ass out to see you. I wasn’t making sure of anything.”
I feel tilted, off-balance, part of me whisperingThat can’t be true, but I have to believe her. If I love her—if Irespecther—I believe her.
“I’m really glad you did.” It’s not good enough, but I don’t know what else to say. Being with Madeline feels like all my loose pieces snap into place. Like someone’s turned me toward the light and from this angle, my flaws aren’t so bad. “You can always come. You can always stay, if you want. I always want you around.”
“Always?” she asks, skeptical, but those are all the words I had, so I take her face in my hands and kiss her.
“Always,” I say when we come up for air, but I don’t let her go. She’s holding my coat again, her eyes closed, her lashes against her cheeks. “And don’t you dare doubt me.”
This time she kisses me, warm and soft and sure, and it feels like the world was made just for us.
Madeline drivesaway early the next morning, and it doesn’t feel like I thought it would. I thought it would hurt, and it does—itsucks—but I’ll see her in a week, and I know we’re both counting down the days. It’s easier this way, when I can sayI miss youand she saysI miss you, too.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
JAVIER
Sunday,my mom calls. I’m at work when she does, elbow-deep in roses, so I let it go to voicemail. When she calls again, five minutes later, Pat sees me check the screen and tells me to take the break I’ve earned. I throw my coat on, head to the alley behind the shop, and call my mom back.
“I was just leaving you a voicemail.” She clears her throat. I can hear the worry in her voice. I’m the world’s leading expert at hearing the worry in my mom’s voice.
“Sorry—I was at work,” I say. It’s cold out here, and I’m already pacing the width of the alleyway. I can never stand still on the phone. Especially not when my mom’s calling after an argument.
“It’s Sunday.”
“Blooming Blossoms, the florist,” I remind her. “Valentine’s is this week. I picked up a couple extra shifts.”
She clears her throat. “Well, I was going to call sooner, but I wanted to talk to you when Madeline wasn’t there, so you wouldn’t be distracted. Gerald said she was visiting.”
“She was.”
