Hours on the road.
Hours of knowing Chiara is ten feet away.
Alone.
I try to sit still for about thirty seconds.
Then I give up.
“Bathroom,” I mutter to Ogre—who’s sitting next to me eyes closed with his headphones on—and I stand.
No one else looks like they’re up.
Perfect.
I make my way down the aisle, careful not to bump into anyone, until I reach the back of the bus.
Her curtain.
My heart starts pounding like I’m about to run onto the paddock.
Which is ridiculous.
I’m a grown man sneaking into a woman’s seat compartment like a teenager.
But the thought of seeing her?
Worth it.
Instead of stepping into the bathroom, I slide the curtain aside just enough and slip inside.
She’s sitting up.
Phone in her hand.
The light from the screen illuminates her face—and the second she sees me her eyes go wide and her lips part.
Instinctively, I reach out and cover her mouth before she can yelp.
“Shh,” I whisper.
Her heart is racing—I can feel it through the other hand I’ve got against her shoulder.
“It’s me.”
Not that she needs clarification.
She nods quickly.
I lower my hand.
The compartment is small enough that my knee bumps her seat as I crouch inside, getting close to her as I can.
“Are you insane?”she whispers.
“Possibly.”
Her eyes narrow.
