"At the coffee shop on Meridian," I tell him.
The corner of his mouth moves. "Cute."
"Why are you here?"
"Business."
"Business?" I ask. He still hasn't stepped back. There is no room between us to breathe properly, and he seems completely unbothered by that. "What kind of business?"
I reach for his coat. The flap is right in my face. My fingers find the hem, turning it slightly, not pulling. He watches my hands with an expression that gives me nothing and takes everything.
"Like your mom's type of business?" I ask. "Or areyoufollowingme?"
I say it to deflect. To put something between us.
His face changes, and something that tells me I've pressed somewhere real. He steps closer, which I didn't think was physically possible, and now I am entirely inside the space of him and there is no version of looking anywhere that isn't looking at him.
"Theo," I breathe, nearly about to fall over at how close he is. I can’t handle the proximity. He’s just so large.
"Where do we meet now?" he whispers.
I look around at the narrow walls. "Here?"
"It smells."
"Is that why you're this close to me?"
He leans down, and I feel his breath on my cheek when he says, "I am on your leash."
I whisper back, "Like a dog?"
His hand finds my face, turning it up. My chin in his fingers, tilted until I have no choice but his eyes. "I would meet you at the edge of the earth every day if you asked me to."
The world goes completely quiet inside me. I stare into his eyes, and something in them tells me he’s speaking the truth. My heart swims in my gut.
"You haven't even asked for my number," I say because I don’t know what else to say to that.
His eyes drop to my mouth and come back up. "Is that what you want? You want me to ask you…for your number?"
I nod.
"And what would you like me to do once I have it?"
"Plan a time to meet."
"Why?"
"So I can get my book back."
His face breaks into a smile.
It’s beautiful.
I have never seen him smile before, but it’s gone in a flash. My heart pounds against my ribs.
"Your book?" he says.
"My book." I reach up without thinking and fix a piece of his hair that the wind moved. My fingers against his forehead, near the scar. He goes very still.
