When I awoke, it was nearly ten in the morning. I came out of sleep like a car slamming into a wall, realizing my parents were next door and Ames was still in bed with me.

“Shit!” I whispered, climbing out of bed and pulling my phone from my jacket. I had three missed calls and four texts.

That had been sent at eight.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I whispered.

It was almost comical, the way I could actually hear my mom’s trill through these messages.

Ames shifted, pulling my attention from my phone momentarily. “Good morning,” he said, all sleepy and sexy. His hair was in a hundred directions, his eyes still opening slowly.

“Good morning,” I repeated, wanting to climb back into the bed with him. But my phone buzzed in my hand and I laughed in a way that probably sounded maniacal. “My mom has been texting me for two hours. She gets really cranky if she doesn’t eat first thing in the morning.”

Ames looked at the clock and then started. “Christ. I didn’t realize we’d slept so late.”

I laughed again, and turned to the mirror, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Yes. So, I have to go.” I grabbed my jeans from the floor and shoved them on, before stepping into the bathroom and throwing my bra on. I grabbed a few bobby pins from the counter and stuck them between my teeth as I pulled my hair into a high bun. I came out of the bathroom with just my bra on and two bobby pins sticking out of my mouth as I secured my bun with one.

Ames pulled his pants on, and then slid his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. “Guess I’ll see you later?”

I put the last two bobby pins in my hair and yanked a sweater hanging in my closet. “Yes. I’ll try to sneak away,” I promised. I glanced back at the bed. “But, if I can’t, you can always come back and have an adult sleepover with me.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking far too devilishly sexy for this early in the morning. “An adult sleepover? How does that differ from a regular sleepover?”

I didn’t know what it was about him that made me feel shy, but I nibbled on my lip as I turned to the mirror and swiped mascara over my lashes. “The difference is that clothes are optional.”

His smile spread and my limbs went a little jelly. I pretended to be very interested in my concealer, even though I could see him walking toward me out of my periphery.

He pressed up against me, hugging me from behind, and dropped a kiss to my shoulder. “It’s a date.”

Giggling, I dropped my concealer and turned around, so that we were facing one another. He caged me to the bureau with his arms braced on its surface as he leaned into me. “A clothing-optional sleepover is a date? Our first date?” I hoped my face showed just how ridiculous the notion was.

“Okay. Maybe that’s not a date.” He tugged on the neck of my sweater. “I’ll think of something.”

He leaned in, and I felt my chest go tight in anticipation. Just as his lips hovered over mine, my mom’s banging on the door that adjoined our rooms stopped us.

He pointed at the door to the hallway. “I’ll just go out that one. See you later.”

As soon as he was clear, I unlocked the door adjoining our rooms and my mom breezed in. “Honestly, Mila. Must you sleep all day?”

I brushed the front of my sweater, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I had a late night.” I picked up my phone to put it in my pocket when a text from Ames came through.

“Shit.”

My mom spun around. “What?”

“Nothing.” I tucked the phone in my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Jude and my dad were in the hallway, waiting for us. Jude watched me, and I studiously avoided making eye contact until our parents were ahead of us, walking down toward the elevators. “It’s not what you think,” I whispered to Jude.

“You don’t know what I could be thinking.” He put his arm on my shoulders. “You’re happy, and smiling, and that’s good. So, no comment.” And when the elevator opened, Jude called to our parents, “We’re going to take the stairs. Get a little cardio in.”

“It’s one whole flight of stairs,” I said on a laugh as he pushed open the door to the stairwell.

“Then we’ll take it really slow.” When the door closed behind us, he stood at the top step, unmoving. “Is this good?”

“I thought you said ‘no comment.’”

He nodded. “I did, but that was before I realized I could talk to you away from Mom and Dad for a second. I just want to make sure that whatever it is you’re doing—that it’s not too soon for you.”

He meant Colin. I took in a deep, clarifying breath and released it. “I miss him, Jude. So, so much. I can’t go an hour without thinking about him.” I wrapped my fingers around the cool metal of the bannister. “The loss—the sadness I feel—lives in me, of course it does, but it’s contained.” I worked out how to explain it, feeling completely bereft of coherent thought. “For me, grief isn’t a disease that spreads. It lives in the hollow part of my heart, but it’s not my whole heart.”

Jude was looking at the ground between us, and I recognized it as his pensive pose. “You’re stronger than I think even you know.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I took the first step down the stairs and waited for him to follow me. “It’s a choice—to wallow in despair or to acknowledge what can still bring happiness to my life. And I’m choosing to live despite the heartache. That doesn’t make me strong.”

He let out a deep sigh and followed me down the stairs. “It makes you a survivor instead of a victim—and Mila-moo? That’s something to be proud of. I’m proud of you.”

Moments like this were exactly the reason I loved my brother so much. Where my parents faltered, Jude was steady—my crutch. At the bottom step, I turned and wrapped my arms around him. “Thank you,” I told him, hoping he knew just how much it meant to me.

That night, my parents forced Jude and I to participate in family time, which meant lying on the extra bed in their room while we watched the movies of their choice and listened to them argue about the characters in them. I went through a whole bottle of wine by myself and when my phone buzzed around midnight and we were only halfway through Stand By Me, I knew I’d have to tell Ames we’d meet up another night.

I did my best to bite down on the smile that spread across my lips, but Jude caught it and raised his eyebrows.

“How long do you think this’ll last?” I whispered to him, shielding my face from our parents with one of the fluffy pillows.

Jude craned his neck. “Probably another hour or two.” A loud snore sounded from my father and Jude added, “Maybe less.”

I sighed and uncovered my face. The movie was good, but being forced into family time—when all we did was sit there together, silent except for the occasional bickering from Mom and Dad—was the last thing I wanted to be doing that night.

“Who are you texting, Mila?”

Briefly, I debated lying to her. But the forced family time had pushed me over the edge. “Ames.”

She wrinkled up her forehead. “Who?”

“The bartender I introduced you to.” I waited for it—almost craving the reaction I knew I’d get from her.

I watched the realization come into her eyes, watched her nod and then took in the way her lips turned downward. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I could show you, if you don’t believe me.” My voice was cool, but firm.

She hugged a pillow to her chest. “Oh, I believe you. This is just the kind of thing you would do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” But I knew what it meant. My mother was as predictable as the sunrise. That’s where her safety net lay—and having a daughter that was wholly unpredictable really cramped her style.

“It’s been three months. Honestly, Mila.” She made a sound akin to a ‘tsk’ and shook her head.

“Is there an acceptable time in which you’d prefer me to adhere?”

“Colin—your boyfriend—died three months ago, Mila. You think having a romance with a man halfway around the world is a good idea?”

“Thanks for reminding me how long ago Colin died, Mom, because you’d think I’d have forgotten that horrible, horrific day.”

Before I could continue, she jumped in with, “It does seem like you have forgotten.”

“I’m sorry I don’t grieve the way you’d like me to. Just because I’m not sad all the time, just because I’m talking to a man,” I waved at my phone, “doesn’t mean I’m heartless.” Jude put a hand on my arm but I shook it off. “I loved Colin.” I pressed a fist to the mattress. “I loved him. But I’m more than my heartache. I’m more than you think I am.” My voice broke, and I swallowed down the emotion that filled my throat. “Don’t make his death insignificant just to further your agenda.”

“What agenda?”

“You’re using his death as another way to pick at me—to tell me what I’ve done wrong with my life, all the things I’ve done you don’t agree with. Don’t,” I pointed a finger at her and stood up from the bed, “tell me how to love, how to heal, how to breathe. Because you don’t even know me.”

“Mila,” Jude said calmly and I shook my head, turning to him.

“No, Jude. I’m sick of it—I’m sick of every decision I make being the wrong one. I’m not sleeping with random men, I’m not destructive, I’m not an alcoholic, a drug user—but you know what?” I turned to face my mother. “If I was doing any of those things, if I was any of those things—it’d still be none of your Goddamned business.”

With that, I left the room for the vacancy of the hallway. Before the door could close all the way, Jude had followed me.

“Hey,” he said, and pulled me against him for a hug.

I angrily swiped at the tears on my face. “I’m sorry—I know you’re going to have to deal with the fallout from that.”

“It’s fine,” he assured me. “I’m sorry. I know that it’s not easy being my sister.”

“Are you kidding me?” I rubbed my fists over my still watering eyes. “You’re the best part of my life. If it wasn’t for you, that shit—” I flung my hand toward the door, “would’ve turned me into a raging alcoholic.”

“It’s a miracle you haven’t.” His smile was sad. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, especially not after her behavior in there, but she does love you. It’s just hard for her to understand you.”

I nodded and rubbed my arm across my eyes and sniffled. “I am happy, Jude. I’m really happy. And maybe some of that is thanks to Ames, but what I know for sure is that I was happy before him.”

“And that’s the miracle of you, Mila. You’re happy, you’re well-adjusted and strong, despite all of the bullshit. Probably because of the bullshit. Mom and Dad have forced you to be brave, to stand up for yourself, probably much to their chagrin. So don’t—” he braced his hands on my shoulders, “stop being who you are. Because you’re good, down to your soul. Maybe that irks her a little, knowing that, and she searches for faults to make herself feel better. I’m not saying it’s right. But it’s who she is.”

I could feel myself calming down by the second. “I probably should apologize, but I don’t think I’m mature enough for that right now.”

“That’s okay. She should apologize too, but I saw her pop a sleeping pill before you left, so she’ll be halfway to slumber town by now.” He squeezed my shoulders. “And hey, maybe the apology doesn’t need to happen today. Or even tomorrow. Maybe you’ll never see eye-to-eye, but one thing will never, ever change: she’ll always be your mom. Your only mom. And it’d be better if, one day, you could talk to her, to tell her how she’s made you feel for years. Because it’s not fair to her, to not know those things.” I opened my mouth to say something, but he shook his head. “I know, you think that because she’s your mother, she should already know. But like you said, she doesn’t know you. And until you’re both speaking the same language, you’re never going to understand one another.”

I couldn’t imagine a day where I could sit down and bare my soul to her. I couldn’t imagine anything of the sort happening in the near present. I had no desire to pick my emotional scabs until they’d bled. “I know. You’re right.” And he was. That was the miracle of my brother. To be able to see all sides of a conflict, and to handle all the arguments with the utmost grace.

“Go on to your room. It’s late.” He cocked his head toward the room. “If by some twisted miracle she’s still awake, I’ll make sure she’s asleep before I am, so she doesn’t bother you.”

I hugged my brother again. “Thanks for not being a shitty person.”

He rubbed my head and chuckled. “Likewise.”

Later, after a long, hot shower to help release all the tension in my body, I crawled into bed and switched off the lamp. Not two seconds after settling under the covers, I heard my phone vibrate across the desk and I practically flew out of the bed to grab it. But it wasn’t from Ames.

I glanced at the clock in disbelief.

Before I could type my reply, she added:

I turned my phone off, wondering what Lotte could possibly need to talk to me about.

Wednesday happened to be the last day of my parents’ visit, so after dropping them and Jude off at the airport, I hopped back on the tube and took it down to Lotte’s studio. It’d been four days since I’d seen Ames, but our schedules just hadn’t worked with my family in town and the surge of people flooding Free Refills.

I had a mountain of energy pent up from the last few days showing my parents around the city, taking them on the London Eye, a tour of Westminster Abbey, and a million other touristy things while studiously avoiding speaking with my mom about our argument.

All that tension had settled in my muscles, making them feel as if they’d atrophied, so spending the afternoon dancing at Lotte’s studio sounded like the perfect way to bring my entire body back to life.

I texted Ames outside of her studio.

I couldn’t wait either. It had only been four days, but it’d felt like forever after seeing him nearly every day for the last week. Knowing that I had nine days left in the city hung over me like a cloud waiting to spill, and I did my best to pretend I could make those days last longer than their number.

Lotte arrived at the studio the same time I did. “Hey, Mila!” she said, and I was struck once again by how young she looked. I knew she wasn’t that young, but her face, devoid of makeup and any visible signs of all the things that aged a person, she looked barely eighteen. She unlocked the door and I followed her in, shrugging off my jacket and tossing it on the hook.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked her, remembering her text. She hung her coat up beside mine and worried her lip between her teeth.

“Let’s get a warm-up in before I talk about it?”

I nodded and slipped my dance shoes on, and began my stretches beside her on the floor.

“I’ve been listening to the song nonstop. I think it would benefit with a bit less negative space between our movements. More fluidity. Especially when the chorus drops.” She turned on the stereo and selected the song. “Like this, maybe?”

She stood up and stretched through the opening verse. When the chorus hit, everything about her changed. It was incredible to me, that she could go from an ingénue to this woman who commanded the floor, commanded the attention of anyone within sight.

She dropped to her haunches before launching herself back up, crossing her arms over her body and popping her chest out to the stomping beat. She flung both arms above her head and then dragged the hand of one down, over her face, over her chest, until it found a home on her hip just as the next stomp in the song hit and she made the upper half of her body more sinuous, as if she had no joints at all.

It was mesmerizing, watching her move, her blonde hair flying with each shake of her head—like she was an animal suddenly uncaged, and discovering how much she could move her limbs.

She hit pause on the remote and turned to me.

“Holy crap, Lotte.” I fanned my face, not even in a mocking way. Her interpretation of the chorus was powerful, sexy—demanding in a way that was unequivocally alluring. “That was insanely hot.”

Lotte laughed, and she lost all of that crazy intimidating façade. “Really?”

“Hell yes.” I stood up, eager to repeat the steps she’d just shown. “You moved your body like a viper with legs. It was crazy.”

“The song is ‘River’ after all. I thought we needed to show that a little in our movements. I think the beginning can still be soft and sexy, but when the beat drops and her voice gets stronger, I think our moves need to mimic that.”

“I completely agree. Start it again, let me follow your lead.”

And that’s what we did for the next forty-five minutes, repeating it over and over until I felt like I had the steps down without thinking. That was one of the things I loved most about dance—that it could transport me into a whole other person, someone strong and commanding—and powerful—without needing to think about anything. The movements were organic, and my body followed them faithfully as naturally as breathing.

By the time we both took a break, we were soaked in sweat. Lotte slid a water bottle across the floor to me and I took a long sip before lying back and letting my breaths even out. She laid beside me and we stared up into the open ceiling, at the white fairy lights that wrapped around the beams.

“Those are so high up,” I commented.

“Ames climbed up there. Sat right on the beams like it was nothing and wrapped them for me. Took him hours.”

“Worth it.”

She chuckled. “It really was. It’s especially gorgeous at night—when it’s just those lights and the lights from outside. That’s when this building is the quietest, so it’s much easier to connect with the space.” She seemed to want to say more, but didn’t. It was obvious enough that I turned my head to look at her.

“What’s plaguing you? I can practically see the wheels turning in your head.”

Lotte sighed and rolled over to her side. “It’s Ames, actually.”

“What about him?”

She looked at the floor for a minute and then heaved a sigh, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “He won’t even listen to me. About this place.” She pulled her knees to her chest and I sat up to face her.

“About selling it?”

“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, I love this place. I love the location, I love the building. But I feel like I’m on a leash.” She pulled her tank away from her body to fan herself. “It’s so stifling, to be told what you should be doing when it completely contradicts with everything you want to be doing. I don’t want to be here every single day for the rest of my life.”

I sat quiet, listening to her. But already, I could see a lot of similarities between her and me, namely with wanting to do what other people didn’t want you to do.

“You know what I see when I wake up, when I go down to the kitchen at the pub, when I come here?”

I shook my head.

“I see my life and my death—all at once. Do you know how paralyzing that is? It’s my biggest fear. I don’t want to wake up and do the same routine for the rest of my life. That’s not what I choose.”

I remembered that transition from teenage to twenties, how the only thing I craved was uncertainty. I chased mountains in Tasmania, lakes in Finland, rivers in Canada. I couldn’t have imagined spending my days and nights doing the same thing, seeing the same people, eating the same things. It sounded stifling to think about, even though I had mellowed out in recent years. There was safety in knowing where you’d lay your head every night, but when I’d been Lotte’s age, I hadn’t wanted safety. I’d wanted adventure. I hadn’t wanted comfortable, I’d wanted the unknown. “I understand,” was all I could tell her.

“I knew you would. You’re from the very place I want to run away to. You travel for work. You have a list of hobbies that sound…” she exhaled and her eyes held a million dreams. “I don’t know what word I’m looking for. Probably because I’m so bogged down by this place.” She turned toward the window. “I love London.” She paused and looked back at me. “I don’t know why I need to keep clarifying that I love London and I love dancing.”

“You don’t need to clarify those things.” I chewed on my lip, fighting the urge to tell her to go for her dreams. “But they’re not the only things you want to fall in love with.”

“Exactly!” She pushed to her feet. “You get it.” She clutched her hands close to her chest and looked out the window. “I want to find out the things I don’t like, too. Ames says I’ll hate the desert, because it’s so dry and there’s no reprieve. But he can say that, because he’s been there. He’s been all over, and I’ve been nowhere.” She laughed. “I want the space to hate things. Doesn’t that sound silly?”

The conversation was weighing heavily on me—because I understood every single word she was saying. Moreover, I agreed with her. But I didn’t think it was my place to encourage her to make such a big decision, selling her studio and running away to another continent. Besides, getting in the middle of that discussion with Ames would not bode well for me. “It doesn’t sound silly.” I didn’t think Lotte knew the gravity of her asking me to back her up.

She fingered the M charm at her neck, the one made from a piece of Mahlon’s wedding band. “I think my sister, if she were still here, would support me on this.”

I couldn’t agree with her there, having not known Mahlon. But given her romanticism about the weight of a soul, I believed that she may have been romantic about her sister chasing her dreams. “I’m sure it’s hard not having your mom or sister here to help you navigate these things.”

“It’s so hard. My mum was a dreamer—which is probably why I am too. What’s funny is that it was that part of her personality that made my father chase her. He loved that she could see further than most. But now, likely due to Ames’ influence, he’s trying to keep me tethered here.” She wrapped her arms over her front and leaned against the window frame.

Looking at her like that, wantonly staring off into the distance, I ached for her. I knew the yearning she had in her bones—and by the way she talked about it, I suspected it was even more powerful than my own yearning when I was twenty—the age that I’d begun my adventuring. Lotte was three years past that. Because of that, and because of the lack of support I’d had myself, I decided that I was being selfish in not wanting to risk upsetting Ames by telling her how I really felt. “If I were you,” I began, being careful with my choice of words, “I would do whatever it was that would enable me to live a life on my own terms.”

She nodded, but kept staring off into the distance. “I’ll just need to keep pestering him and my dad about it until they agree. But I am going to do it.” She turned, and seemed alleviated somehow. “Ready to piece the whole thing together?”

“Yes. I need to practice the transition between the verse and the chorus—because I’m not sure if the two moves will work together.”

Lotte hit the stereo and we began again.

I loved the way the song started softer, not hinting at what awaited when the power of the chorus kicked in. The song represented everything I was, and who I wanted to be. Soft, and then powerful and back again. Dynamic in its vocals and beats, something that you couldn’t sit idle while listening.

I was so lost in the song that all awareness of my surroundings disappeared. I closed my eyes so I could focus wholly on the beat, on the way it echoed through my body. I almost didn’t hear the click of shoes on the floor—it was their vibration under my feet that caused me to turn around in the middle of the chorus.

“Ames!” I exclaimed, startled by his presence in the studio.

He looked guarded, like he’d snuck up on a wild animal. Which was probably how I’d looked to him, as wrapped up in the moment as I knew I’d been. The thought made me self-consciously tuck my untamed hair behind my ears. Sweat slid down my spine, and I was grateful I’d worn a crop top over my sports bra, enabling my skin to cool off much faster. But Ames had never seen me like this, in tight black leggings, black crop top, all of me soaked in sweat and my chest heaving in exertion.

“Wow.”

I tucked my hair behind my ears again, even though it was already tucked, and then clasped my hands in front of myself, not sure how to proceed.

“That was…” he shook his head. “I feel as if I was in a trance, watching you.” The smile on his face was dumbfounded, and I felt embarrassment color my cheeks and chest.

“I…” I searched for Lotte, who’d made herself scarce at that moment. “I’m surprised you came by.”

He took a tentative step toward me. “I guess I couldn’t wait until tonight.” He looked me up and down and took another step. “I’m happy I decided to come by, because watching you was…” he rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I don’t even have words.”

The way he was looking at me, with awe in his eyes and that surprised smile on his lips, made me think of the way a man would look at a woman dressed up for a date with him. He was taken aback, and I’d done that. The notion filled me with more nerves than I thought I possessed.

“Mila, remember when I said you were a good dancer?”

I nodded and held my breath.

“I’m afraid I lied. You’re,” he shook his head, and walked all the way toward me. My breath hitched. “Phenomenal. Transcendent. Wow.”

I knew I must have blushed tomato-red from his praise. His hand came to my neck. “I came by to see you, and then once I saw you, I couldn’t stop watching you.” He rubbed along the column of my throat with his thumb. “My biggest regret is that my presence interrupted you. Will you do it again?”

Laughing, I leaned into him. “No way. I’m embarrassed enough that you saw it. It’s not even done.”

“It’s not like I could tell. You moved so powerfully—like you were always meant to move like that.”

“Stop,” I whispered, because I wasn’t sure that my cheeks could burn any hotter. When his lips touched the top of my head, I ripped myself away from him. “I’m so sweaty,” I lamented.

“I like it.” He took my hand and spun me back to him. “It’s sexy.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“Good.”

“Don’t you have a bar to be running?”

“You mean a pub, and yes, I do. But I’m allowed to take a break here and there.”

“You’re working tonight?”

“I am. Will you still come by?”

“Definitely.”

He took my hands and spread his fingers so that mine linked with his. “Good. When do you think?”

I looked up at the clock, surprised it was already six. “Maybe in a couple hours? I need to shower and change before I come by.”

“Change?” He held me away from him, looking me up and down. He hooked a finger in the neck of my crop top and tugged me toward him. My heart tripped in my chest in time with my feet, and I felt everything inside of me go lax, like I was surrendering myself to him. “You should wear this. And I like the sweat.”

“Shut up,” I said on a laugh.

“You say that to me a lot.” He let go of my shirt and ran his finger down the side of my face. “I should get going, but I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Okay.” I rose on my tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss full on his mouth. “See you.”

When he left, Lotte came out of the back room that seemed to be a storage area and she had her hands pressed against her mouth, stifling her glee. “That was so sweet!”

“Oh, Lord.” I didn’t think I could burn any brighter than I did when she looked at me like that. There was expectation attached to that kind of glee—and it made my stomach flip. “Aren’t you supposed to be grossed out by that kind of…” I spun my hand in the air, searching for the word, “affection?”

“Maybe if he was my blood brother, but since he’s not.” She shrugged as she pulled a jacket on. “It’s good to see him smiling. Really good.”

I bent to pick up my shoes by the door, hiding my own smile. Slipping off the dance shoes, I gave her a look. “He makes me smile too.” She handed me my coat. “But apparently, according to him, I do that a lot.”

“You do, but I think that’s part of your magic.”

I rolled up the sleeves of my jacket, too warm to go full long sleeves even in the chilly September evening air. “I don’t have magic.”

“You do, to Ames.” She opened the door and gestured me out. “I’ve known him a long time, Mila. And you’re the first person he’s looked at more than once since Mal. That makes you special.”

I let out a puff of air when we stepped out onto the sidewalk, feeling my stomach coil with nerves. I believed she meant to reassure me, to make me proud of the effect I had on her brother-in-law. But he was having the same effect on me—and with the tick of our expiration date echoing in my head, it was impossible to continually feel lifted by the weight of my feelings for him.