I huff out a hard breath.
“I really don’t,” he admits, gesturing openly with both hands. “I’m sorry. I haven’t figured that part out. But there’s got to be another viable solution.”
If there was, he’d be offering it up. Mister genius. Perfect SAT score.
“I came up with this plan before I knew you were here,” I say. “It wasn’t perfect, but it was a way out. Now it’s all completely messed up, and that’s before I even consider any of … whatever this is,” I say, gesturing between us. “So you don’t have to tell me that it’s flawed, because I already know that, okay? If it wasn’t flawed, I’d be knocking down the door ofCoast Lifemagazine, begging them to reconsider me for the internship.”
“Hey. If you still want to go for that magazine internship, fine. Go for it—I mean, yes, you’d be working for a magazine that’s owned by a man who spawned Adrian Summers, but that’s your business.”
“Not fair,” I say, pouting.
“But seriously,” he says, holding up a hand, “if you want it, go for it. And if you want to be with your dad, if that is your one true dream, I wouldneverstand in your way. But if it’s not? If it’s just a means to an end? If it’s just a place to run to? Then let me help you figure out an alternate route.”
“Why would my dad be a place to run to? He’s rich and famous, and he’s one of the most talented photographers working right now.”
Lucky sighs heavily. “Come on, Josie. It’s me.”
“I need to think about all this.”
He nods several times. “That’s fair.”
A terrible sadness falls upon me, draining all my energy. He’sright about a lot of things. I know better than anyone: Making attachments with people that you’re going to have to leave hurts. It’s why I never do. Ever. But here I am, breaking my own rules. Rushing back into old habits with him—and worse. Trying to make new habits with him.
“Maybe we should stay away from each other until this gets sorted out,” I say, a little dazed. “I guess that’s what you were trying to do over the last few days.” Detachment.
“No.”
“No?”
He shakes his head, pries my fingers away from my camera, and sets it atop the brick wall. Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him.
“Dammit,” I whisper into his shirt.
“I know,” he says against my head. “I know.”
“If this is a pity hug …”
“Shut up. It’s not a pity hug. Let me hold you, okay? You could try holding me back. If it won’t kill me, then it won’t kill you.”
My arms are folded up between us. My last line of defense. “You don’t know that. It might. I’m cursed, remember?”
“Told you already, I don’t believe in curses.”
“Doubt they care if you believe or not,” I tell him, allowing myself to loll against his shoulder and chest—just a little. But I keep my arms folded up like a bird’s wings. I can hear his heart thumping, steady and strong, faster than I’d expect. I try to concentrate on it until my muscles relax a little more. He smells really good. I’d forgotten already.
“We’re going to figure this out, okay?” His deep voice reverberates through his chest and into my bones. “Your grandmother doesn’t come back for a year. A year is a long time.”
“A year is a long time,” I repeat.
His hand strokes a path up my back. He shifts my hair out of the way and holds me tighter, tucking his chin better into my neck, where he speaks in a soft voice against my skin. “I knew when you walked into the bookshop that day that my life was about to change.”
“You did?”
“I did. Maybe it was the curse,” he says, lightness in his voice, “Or … I don’t know.”
“What?”
“Because I saw you, and it just felt like everything that had gone wrong in my life just magically healed … like I’d been walking around all broken, and all my broken pieces suddenly reconnected.”
