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When we get to my apartment block, the street is quiet. Theo’s lamppost – because that’s how I’ll always think of it now – casts a golden glow across the road. I take a breath, turning to face him.

He drops his head until his brow is against mine, and pulls me against him, making my heart slam against my ribcage.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I nod.

His arms tighten around me, like he’s memorizing the way I fit against him. My hands slide up the front of his coat, gripping the fabric because if I don’t hold on to something I might actually fall over.

His breath ghosts across my mouth. And then, just when I’m certain he’s going to kiss me⁠—

Theo pulls back.

Not far. Just enough that the space between us comes rushing back like icy air.

I study him, confused. “You came all this way, slept on a sidewalk, threw your phone down a drain, and you’re stopping now?”

He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound warm against the night air.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I ask, confused.

His hand slides up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there for a moment.

“Because you asked me to give you space,” he says gently. “And when you say something matters to you, I listen.”

The words land somewhere deep in my chest. He heard me. And although he’s right, that’s what I said, I’m kind of kicking myself now.

And so are my lips. Or they would if they had legs.

“You could come upstairs,” I suggest hopefully. “It’s warm. There’s no sidewalk involved.”

His eyes search mine, and for a second I think he might say yes. I can tell he wants to. Instead, he shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I frown.

“Because if I come up, I’ll never want to leave. And I still have something more to prove to you.”

I glance toward the bench where he spent the night. “You’re not planning to sleep out here again, are you?”

“Tempting,” he murmurs. “But I think I might check into a hotel this time. My back would appreciate the upgrade.” He traces the bridge of my nose with his fingertip, and my breath catches.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yes.” I say it too quickly. It makes him smile.

“Good.” He traces my jaw with his finger, his eyes heavy lidded. “Can I have your number?” he asks me.

“What?”

“I need your number. To call you in the morning. I threw my phone away, and I’m the idiot who didn’t memorize your number first.”

I find a pen and an old receipt in my purse, and write it out for him. Our fingers brush as I press it into his hand.

“Don’t lose that,” I warn him.