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She smiles.

“Thank you, Alessio.”

Then she reaches up and kisses me quickly.

Too quickly.

Trying not to smear her lipstick.

“It's gonna be crazy until intermission,” she says apologetically.

“I know.”

“Promise you won’t pout?” Amanda teases me.

“I won’t pout.”

“Liar.”

She laughs softly and squeezes my hand.

“I’ll see you later.”

“You will,” I promise.

Plenty of time for kisses later.

Plenty of time for everything later.

I watch her disappear into her dressing room.

And then I take up my usual post outside.

That's our deal.

I don't crowd her while she's working.

I understand her process.

Respect it.

Love it.

So I wait.

Two minutes.

Then three.

No problem.

Five minutes—something cold slides down my spine.

It’s been too long.

I hear someone calling her name from the stage.

I check the time.