Page 499 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

His exhale blows sharp. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I hear his car door slam shut.

“Keep goin’.”

“Boots,” I say. “Knee-high boots.”

“Fuck.” His breath catches. “Where are you?”

“Almost to Sixth. Do I gotta cross?”

“No, baby. Just look left.”

A woman shoulders past me.

I swipe back my hair. “Andrew.”

“Yeah?”

I breathe out.

Smile.

“I’m gonna kiss you,

“just so you know.”

His laugh comes out ruined.

“Yeah?” His voice dips.

“I’m gonna let you.

“Tongue and all.”

By the time I hit Sixth, I look left⁠—

Then I see him.

And freeze.

Andrew Harding—black leather jacket, black thermal, dark jeans—leaning against a black 1982 Firebird,

phone to his ear, engine running,

tailpipe blowing out white clouds,

hazard lights blinking at his ankles.

My mouth falls open.

The cold air slaps my wide eyes.