“I don’tknow,” she said.
“Right, sorry…just thinking aloud.”
Her finger traced the script slowly, deliberately.
Cuando me besa…When he kisses me…Krista lifted her eyes to meet Joe’s. For a second, everything stilled. His gaze dropped involuntarily to her mouth as she bit her bottom lip, then back up.
“I think you’re right. She had a lover. And this last line,” she said then, forcing their attention back to the diary, “talks about duty over desire. But she didn’t marry Peter, did she? Unless she got a divorce?”
Joe shrugged. “Maybe Peter passed away, and then she married your grandfather.”
“And for some reason she disappeared for a while? Why?”
“That’s the mystery, isn’t it?”
Halfway through the diary, a pressed flower tumbled free—a pale, silver Moonlight Kiss bloom, still intact after all these years. Krista caught it, cradling it in her fingers as it glimmered in the filtered sunlight.
Joe watched her, captivated. She looked luminous, as if she belonged in this story. Like the lake and the light and the ghosts were all a part of her. His hand lifted instinctively, brushing the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse leap. She didn’t pull away; if anything, she leaned into the touch.
His thumb traced the edge of her palm, slow and careful, learning her in small increments. The attic felt closer, warmer, the dusty air thick with the scent of old paper, and the honey and citrus that seemed to cling to her.
“Krista,” he said, and her name came out rough.
She swallowed, eyes flicking to his mouth before lifting again. “Joe…”
He leaned toward her, just a little, and it was enough. His hand found her waist, fingers spreading over the curve of herhip.
Krista tipped her chin up, lips parting slightly, and Joe’s restraint snapped.
Their lips met with urgency, all wild want and heat. Her hand slid up his chest, his other hand on the back of her head. She made a soft sound as they gripped each other.
The kiss deepened with one slow, hungry sweep of her tongue, and Joe’s pulse surged, the pull into her impossibly magnetic.
“Krista?” Alice’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Honey? Are you still up there?”
They pulled apart as if they were a couple of teenagers caught kissing in study hall.
Krista’s eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, the Moonlight Kiss flower trembling between her fingers. Joe’s hands fell from her neck and waist, but the heat of her skin remained.
“Yeah!” she called, too brightly, clearing her throat. “We’re coming!”
Joe exhaled, jaw tight, resisting the urge to kiss her again. He took a step back, tearing himself away. “We should…” he started, voice low.
“Yeah,” Krista whispered, her eyes caught in his. “We should.”
NINE
KRISTA
Wednesday, Two Days Before the Summer Swap
“This is all your fault,” Krista said, twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers.
She sat at the small bar that divided the kitchen from the living room—a space that somehow managed to look both homey and chaotic at the same time. Fairy lights draped along the window. A stack of cookbooks teetered on the counter beside an abandoned art project Kit, who she shared the apartment with, swore she’d finish “eventually.” The air was warm, rich with the scent of garlic and pancetta.
“My fault?” Kit turned from the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand and a mischievous grin on her face. “You say that like it’s a bad thing that thanks to me, you’re hanging out with the hot travel journalist who looks at you like he’s already writing sonnets in his head. Honey, you’re welcome.”
Krista groaned, resting her chin on her hand. “What’s the point, though? He’s just passing through town. He’s not staying, and I’ve got about a million other things on my plate. I don’t havetimefor romance.”
