Page 152 of Smoke and Glitter

Neither of us comments on it. We don't need to.

I watch him for a while instead. Rain freckles the window behind him, and tires hiss over the wet street below. Sam is reading the back of a wine bottle with far more concentration than it deserves, one hand around my foot as if no time has passed at all.

His phone is on the nightstand beside the bed, the flight still there because he is supposed to leave today.

Later, when the room has gone softer and the food tray has disappeared into the hallway, I settle against his chest again. His fingers move absently through my hair while I listen to his heartbeat.

"Ask me for something."

His hand stops. "What?"

"You heard me."

He says nothing. I lift my head and find him staring toward the ceiling. I recognize the look now, the one where he's searching for a version that costs him less, so I don't help him find one.

His eyes eventually come down to mine. "I don't want to leave today."

There is nothing polished about the admission.

I prop myself higher on his chest. "Then don't."

His jaw tightens slightly. "I want to change my flight."

"Okay."

"Two more nights."

I study him. Sam's hand settles at my waist.

"I'm not asking you to clear two days for me."

That catches me. "I have things I can't move."

"Then don't move them."

"I have a venue meeting."

"Go to it."

"And a call I probably can move."

"Only if you want to."

I stare at him. This is the same man who once acted like rearranging anything for another person was a small personal apocalypse.

"You really want to stay."

"Yes."

"And if I'm working half the time?"

"I'll survive."

"Will you?"

"I've heard London has things."

I laugh. "Things."