Page 69

Molly’s head still felt foggy, weighed down by the day. She leaned further into him, sinking. “Me too,” she said. “Mostly. Still processing.”

Aster broke their hands apart to lift his arm, snaking it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. For a moment, Molly let her eyes slip shut again.

“I was relieved when I realized you didn’t know about today.” He spoke quietly into her hair. She felt the press of a kiss against the crown of her head.

“Why?” she asked, equally quiet. “I understand if you don’t want to celebrate, but I’d at least like to, I don’t know, acknowledge it?” Without his hand to hold, Molly’s palm pressed against his thigh, her fingertips pulsing against his muscle as she spoke.

“I’d rather ignore it,” he said, still speaking to the top of her head, voice low. “I have strained relationships in my life that make it a hard day. It’s not the same as it used to be.”

It was obvious he didn’t know how to tell her. She wouldn’t force him to, no matter how intensely her curiosity begged for answers.

She straightened. “Well, in honor of your birthday that we’re not celebrating, and because I didn’t have time to get you a gift, I want to tell you something.”

“Do you?” he asked, a tired smile holding vigil on his features. She felt her braid shifting as he began playing with the end again.

“Even though I don’t have my memories,” she began, “I realized I have a kind of feeling. Not exactly a memory, but a sensation, I suppose. I didn’t give myself enough credit to trust that if I’d picked you once before, it must have been for a very good reason.” She paused. He kept toying with her hair, shooting tiny jolts of pleasure through her scalp.

She cleared her throat. “You said you avoided some of the harder topics because hoping I’d remember seemed easier. I think I was doing the same thing. I hoped that if I remembered, I wouldn’t have to understand.”

And now that the word irreparable had invaded her personal lexicon, Molly was drowning in the fear that the harder option was the only one left.

“So, you should probably know . . .” She looked up at him, feeling ridiculous and light and a smidge sheepish. “I think I might be falling for you a little bit.”

Aster had the nicest smile. “You think?”

“I know. So—happy birthday? That’s the best gift I could come up with on short notice.”

“That you have a crush on me?”

His hand in her hair found its way to the side of her face, the light touch a firestorm of sensation against her skin. She nodded, determined to hold his gaze.

“Fuck the schedule,” he breathed, and Molly couldn’t have agreed more.

She kissed him, hauling herself closer. Abandoning hesitation, she pivoted, moving to straddle his lap. The simple dress Justine had made, once respectably around knee-length, rode up. Aster’s hands followed, kneading her flesh.

Molly ran her hands through his hair, releasing a sigh against his mouth as his hands skimmed over her hips to find her waist, rocking against him as his fingers traveled upward, touch etched against her bones.

She pulled away, just enough to draw breath and break the spell of contact. But she lingered close, still in his lap. She trailed her fingers along his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, his reddened lips. Her heart clenched as he leaned into her touch.

“Did you want to sleep in your own bed tonight?” she asked, question spoken before she recognized thinking it.

His eyes closed. “Not tonight.”

She pulled further back. “What—?”

“Trust me,” he said. “It’s not that I want to sleep on this sofa indefinitely. But the next time I share that bed with you”—he leaned in, capturing her lips in another kiss, careful and measured as his hands cradled her face—“I intend to do far more than sleep. I don’t want any barriers. And I don’t think this is the right night. For either of us.”

A rapid flush consumed her, caught somewhere between desire and despair. He kissed her again, briefly, as if to end her meandering trail of thoughts.

“I’ve had far worse birthdays,” he told her. “Thank you.”

Molly slid from his lap and let her head rest on his shoulder. They fell asleep like that, curled together on the great mystery of a blue sofa.

Before

“I can’t find my notes.” Molly dropped her bag to the floor in the middle of the hallway.

Simon stopped beside her, body blocking her from the flow of foot traffic still bustling around them headed to class.