I showered quickly so I’d have enough time to dry my hair before heading to Free Refills. The air was getting progressively cooler, and after leaving Lotte’s studio, the sweat on my neck felt like ice cubes.

The dress I pulled on was pale pink, splattered with flowers and a skirt that split up the front to past my knees. Even though this wasn’t a date date, Ames had specifically asked me to meet him and that felt like something special.

After slicking on some lipstick—a rare indulgence—I pulled a jacket on and made my way to Free Refills.

As I approached the building twenty minutes later, I took in the way the glass front was practically vibrating along with the music inside the pub.

I pulled open the door and the music poured out, mingled with a bunch of whoops and cheers.

It was the busiest I’d ever seen Free Refills—slammed wall to wall with people. I couldn’t see a path to the bar, so I stood by the door for a while until Sam stood before me. “Oh, hey lipstick.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and handed me a bottle of cider. “Busy place tonight, huh?”

The cider was cool and tasted like juice. “This could be dangerous.” I held up the bottle between us.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I like living dangerously,” he said, a trace of amusement in his expression.

“That’s hardly surprising.” Before I could ask him where Ames was, the man himself appeared in front of me, dressed in head to toe black—slacks, belt, and sweater. The crowded area around us made it impossible to hug him, so I just reached my hand toward him, which he grabbed and then yanked me—crowd be damned—toward him.

“Hi there,” he said, and my insides liquefied. His arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me tight against him. “You look…” he shook his head and mouthed, Wow. And my heart had the same reaction.

“It’s busy here,” I said against his ear, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the music. “Need help?”

“Not tonight.” He turned to Sam, who clapped him on his back.

“Get the hell out of here,” he said, practically pushing us toward the door.

“What?” I asked, twisting around as Ames led me outside. “Don’t you need to be behind the bar?”

When we were outside, where it was only marginally quieter, Ames said, “Not tonight. Took the night off.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He stepped back to take me in. “You make a pretty picture, Mila.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I ran my hands over the front of his sweater, liking the way he looked in the dark colors, the way it accentuated all the muscles along his arms. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Come on,” he said, leading me down the street. After a minute, I knew the path was familiar. “Sorry, I guess I could’ve told you to wear more comfortable shoes.” He looked down at my feet, taking in the nude-colored pumps I wore.

I stuck one leg out of the folds of my skirt when we were paused at a crosswalk. “These are plenty comfortable.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that. All they look to me is sexy.” He stepped back, taking me in. “But you don’t look like you could run very fast in them.”

I kissed the skin under his jaw. “Do I need to run fast?”

“I guess you’ll be the one to decide that.”

“Well, for your information, I can’t run in heels. I can dance, and stomp, and glide—but run? No. However, it’d only take me a second to kick them off if I really needed to sprint.”

“I hope you don’t take them off tonight, then.” He leaned into me, forehead against mine. “I don’t want you running away, not yet.”

I leaned into him, pushing away the echoes in my head reminding me that I’d be leaving soon, and then when it was safe to walk, he scooped me up into his arms and sprinted across the street, not stopping until we were at the door to his restaurant where he gently set me down on the ground. I’d laughed the whole way across the street, surprised and impressed that he’d been able to carry me without breaking a sweat. He waggled his eyebrows at me playfully as he pulled the key out of his pocket. When he opened the door, I noticed immediately how bright it was.

“Ames!” I exclaimed, taking in the dozens of strings of twinkly white lights all around the restaurant. “You did this?”

He laughed, and locked the door behind us. “You mean, you can’t tell?” He tilted his head to the side and braced his arm on one table. He’d wrapped lights around it, kind of haphazardly. “I ran out of cord, so I had to use what was closest to the outlets.”

“I love it.” And I did. It showed thought, and I couldn’t have been more surprised and pleased and … grateful. For his effort. For him.

He led me to a table he’d set with flatware and glasses. A pitcher with white sangria was sitting in the middle of it all. “Is that the Forbidden Fruit sangria?” I looked over at him.

“It is. I made it this afternoon.”

“Wait, how long have you known you had the day off?”

“Since I asked to spend the time with you.” He pulled a chair out from the table and I sat. He leaned over and his mouth hovered over mine for a beat. “I wanted a night with just us,” he whispered before he slowly pressed his mouth to mine. I turned my head and deepened the kiss, gripping his sweater and waiting until my heart had settled into a steady rhythm before pulling away.

“This is beautiful. Thank you.”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “I wanted to do something. After all, I broke your kissing rule.” He glanced back toward the kitchen and then back at me, a wicked smile on his lips. “And we did, you know,” he raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t help but touch his face, to feel his skin under mine. To feel the smile as it stretched his skin—to know I was the reason for it. “And that was before we even had a date. It’s all very scandalous.”

“So, this is a date.”

“Pfft.” He laughed and took the seat beside me. “Look, this? Isn’t a date. Not my idea of a date, at least.”

“But there are candles, and wine, and I smell something in the kitchen…”

“Pizza,” he supplied. “You smell takeaway pizza from my favorite place.”

I tilted my head to the side. “It has the makings of a date.”

“It might, but I don’t want this to be our first date.” He laughed and rubbed a hand over my shoulder, wearing a sheepish expression. “I might’ve managed the electricity, but there isn’t even running water, so if you have to use the loo, you’ll have to run next door. Truth be told, I’m pretty shite at this.”

I threw my head back and let out a laugh. “Oh, Ames.” Somehow, it charmed me even more. The fact this not-a-date date wasn’t good enough to him, that there was no running water and the pizza was takeout, and one of the tables had lights wrapped around it—all of that made it more special than the most perfectly choreographed date.

“It’s perfect. The best non-date I’ve ever been on.” I covered his hand with mine.

“Wow, you’re setting the bar high already and we haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Because it’s not about the food, Ames,” I told him softly.

“And the food’s pretty damn good.”

I linked my fingers with his. “It doesn’t hold a candle to the company.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving. All that dancing made for one hell of a workout.”

“I bet. I’m still thinking about you in those tight leggings and that sexy top.” He stood. “I’m going to grab the pizza.”

“I’m coming with you.”

In the back, across the stainless steel island, were three boxes of pizza. He flipped the top on each one with a gusto that made me pinch him gently. “I think you overestimated how hungry I am.”

“Well, I got three kinds. I don’t know what kind of pizza you like.”

I rubbed my hand on the island and exchanged a heated look with him, remembering being splayed out on this island just a week before. “I like pizza. You can’t ruin pizza.”

“On that, we agree. This one is plain cheese. This one is pepperoni and bacon. And this one—if you want to get really British—has baked beans.”

“I’ll take a slice of each.” I leaned on the island, looking over each pizza. The crust looked crunchy and seasoned—absolutely divine.

Suddenly, the table moved under my weight, sliding just slightly across the floor.

“I think you forgot to lock the brakes on this thing.” I tucked my tongue into my cheek, once again remembering Ames’ skill with this table.

“Maybe. Or maybe I didn’t forget.” He winked at me as he pulled slice after slice and put them onto a white plate.

I stepped around the island, getting a better look of the part of the room I hadn’t seen my first time through here, and he sighed.

“What?”

“That sound.” He nodded at my heels. “It makes it sound like a real restaurant back here.”

I gave him a sad smile and remembered my conversation with Lotte. I wanted to bring it up with Ames, to see if I could help him with some clarity—but I knew right now was not the perfect moment to bring it up. “It sounds great,” I told him.

He’d picked up the paint cans and newspaper that’d been all over the place and shoved them to one side of the room. But he’d left one thing intact.

“I told you I was keeping it,” he said, coming up behind me and looking down at the paint stain. The blues and reds had formed a dozen different shades in their mixing together across the concrete. It didn’t go with the rest of the room with its gray floors, but it almost looked intentional, in the way it stayed somewhat circular in shape, in just that one spot.

“It’s so pretty.” I tested it with my shoe and it came away dry.

“It’s interesting. Like walking through an art show and seeing one wild painting that doesn’t fit with the aesthetic. I like it.”

“Me too.”

We walked back to the table with Ames carrying our plates of pizza. I took my first bite of the baked beans pizza while he poured the sangria into large glasses.

I made a little noise which caused him to look at me. “You like?”

I pressed two fingers against my lips as I chewed and swallowed. “It’s so surprising. I would’ve never thought to pair beans and pizza together, and yet it works.” I took another bite and chewed it just as thoughtfully. “Okay, this is really good pizza.”

Ames smiled in a way that made his eyes go soft. It was one of the many Ames smiles I was still discovering, and each one I filed away in a safe place in my memory.

The sangria was delicious, as I’d expected. But I’d been right in saying it was the company that made the night special for me. The entire dinner, Ames was thoughtful. Refilling my glass, grazing his fingers across my knuckles, and scooting his chair so close to mine that he nearly landed in my lap once.

“If I was keeping this place, I’d throw away all these chairs and buy booths instead,” he said on a laugh.

I couldn’t stop touching him. I’d find reasons to run my hand over his shoulder, around his neck, through his hair. At one point, when I stretched, he gently grasped my leg and put it on his lap, making small circles over my skin. I didn’t want to not be connected to him in some way. And every time we weren’t touching, I was inventing new reasons to touch him again.

As the candles had burned down to nubs, Ames and I talked and talked. When he asked me to speak in my Australian accent, I’d indulged him and made him toss his head back on a laugh. “It’s so good, Mila. You’ve a real knack for it.”

“Being here has been good practice. There’s a coffee shop near my hotel and I go there and just listen, repeating phrases and practicing the nuances of all the different accents I hear.” I propped my elbow up on the table and dropped my chin into my hand. “It’s fascinating.”

His answering smile was slow-spreading. “You’re fascinating.”

With the low light, and the flicker of the candlelight in his eyes, the moment was saturated with intimacy. And, for a second it made me nervous. “Shut up,” I whispered.

His lips spread wider. “I’ve realized you say that a lot when I’m embarrassing you.”

“If I say it a lot, it must mean you embarrass me a lot.”

“I can’t help but pay you compliments, Mila.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “When I say you’re beautiful, that you smell like something as abstract and ridiculous as sunshine, that you absolutely dazzle me—I’m not saying that for any reason except to state a fact.”

I shivered, but not because it was cold. “Maybe I need to get used to it,” I said without thinking. Nine days loomed in front of my mind and as if Ames could see it, he placed his hand on my knee, pulling my attention back in.

“I’m not the first person to pay you compliments.”

“No, but with you it’s different. Colin—he wasn’t terribly affectionate, with his words or his hands. And that was fine by me. I didn’t crave more than that, not like I do with you. And, I hate comparing Colin and you in the same sentence, because you’re not even on the same playing field with one another. It’s just different.” I took a sip of my sangria and eyed the empty pitcher. “I don’t expect you to be like him, to do the things he did, to treat me how he did. Everything you’re doing is just right, to me. There is no comparison. There are differences, but I’d be lying to you if I didn’t sometimes think about him. Even when I’m here, with you.”

He sighed, running a finger over the lip of his glass until it hummed. “I get it. You remind me of Mal, but you’re different, too.” He licked his lips. “Mostly you remind me of the way she made me feel—which is the only thing I want to be similar.”

My eyes widened as I grasped what he was saying. Hurriedly, he continued, “The last few days, I’ve picked up my phone and wanted to text you, I miss you more than I care to admit. I’m not a sappy man, with sentimental notions. But knowing that I had you to look forward to, that I’d get to talk to you, to touch you, after several long days at the pub? Well, it was a good feeling.”

I tilted my head to the side, taking him in. The candlelight flickered softly, reflecting in his brilliant eyes, and I bit my lip. “If you had texted me that you missed me, I probably would have abandoned my family in a heartbeat and ran to you.” I played with the stem of my glass. “I’m on uneven footing with you. I don’t know the right things to say to you. The last few weeks caught me off guard. You caught me off guard.”

“I only want you to say what you feel. And you caught me off guard too, Mila. There hasn’t been a single soul to catch my eye the way you have, since Mal.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be maudlin in talking about her.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, don’t be sorry. I like to hear about her, about your life together.” I clasped his hands with mine and squeezed, hoping he knew just how earnest I was in that. “You’re talking to someone who gets it, remember?”

He brought my hands to his lips and pressed soft kisses against each knuckle. I had to work to keep my breathing even. “I have to remind myself of that sometimes, I admit. You know…” he paused to run his thumb over the knuckles he’d kissed. “This is so much easier than I thought it’d be.”

“What’s easier?”

“For starters, just … breathing. Without feeling guilty for it. I admire your resilience, your strength, in going through what I’m going through. And I don’t say this to diminish her significance in my life, but sometimes I wish I could have the attitude you do about all of this.”

“People grieve differently. What’s right for me doesn’t mean it’s right for you. And besides,” I rubbed my foot under the table against his, “you’re surrounded by it all the time. With Asher and Lotte, and Free Refills.” I waved a hand around us. “This place.”

“I know. Maybe I’m making it harder on myself. But I don’t regret sticking around.” His eyes took a brief faraway look, and I wondered about what he was thinking. “I’m surprised I can talk about it, about her, with you and not see you shake with jealousy.”

Because I wanted to be closer to him, I slid off my seat and sat sideways on his lap, wrapping my arm around his neck. I sighed and settled against his chest. “How could I be jealous?” I rubbed my hand over his sweater and tilted my head back in order to look him in the eye. I summoned all my courage, swallowed down my fear, and said, “How can I envy someone who loved you?” I brushed the hair away from his forehead and watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I can only be thankful for it.”

“That’s an interesting perspective.” He rocked me gently in the chair, swaying to a song we couldn’t hear.

“The thing that keeps me going, that makes it okay to wake up each day and keep moving, is knowing that I loved Colin with my entire heart. And he loved me too. I’d like to think we gave each other happiness in our time together, limited as it was. And I’m grateful for that, that he died with love in his heart. So how can I be jealous that someone loved you as much as Mal did? It’s a beautiful, wonderful, heartbreaking thing to have loved someone who is no longer breathing the same air you are.” To emphasize my point, I ran my forefinger over his ring. “It’s that ‘loved and lost’ quote. I can choose to wallow in misery, or I can choose to be the same person I was before—the person worthy of the love he gave me. The choice was easy for me. Colin wouldn’t want me to be sad forever. And Mal wouldn’t want that for you, either.”

“I just don’t know if I can find my way to one hundred percent happiness.”

I rubbed the neck line of his sweater. “Maybe it’s not about being happy. Maybe it’s about being okay. Accepting it for what it is. Accepting that life is itself a constant work in progress.”

“But you’re happy, Mila. All the time.”

I sighed and smiled softly, just a tease of the corners of my lips. “Not all the time. But we all heal differently. I loved Colin,” I swallowed, and said my next words carefully. “But I love deeply, and vastly.”

The arm around my waist tightened. “I know you’re right. And I think, that maybe, I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Summer.” When I crinkled my brow, he took a sip of his sangria. I could feel his heart calm, the beats slow to a rhythm not unlike my own. “The sun shines the longest in the summer, making the days last longer than the nights. And when I first saw you on the bridge, you looked like summer to me. It made no sense, not at that time of night, on the cusp of autumn, that I could look at you and see so much sun. There’s comfort in night, in the dark—a safety that the sun cannot guarantee.” He shook his head on a laugh. “I’m babbling.”

I pressed my fingers to his lips, to stop him from dismissing what he’d said. “If I’m summer, what are you? You’re not winter—you’re not ice.”

He held the sangria close to his chest and, softly, he said, “I don’t think I’m winter. I don’t know what I am, except for a person who wants to brave the sun, as long as he can.”

“Ames,” I said, hoping he could hear the depth of feeling in my voice. “Thank you. For tonight. For this.”

He twisted my hair in his hands. “I wanted this place to be special for one night, you know? To be a place someone could take a date.”

And he’d picked me. My chest expanded and deflated, and expanded once more, wider than before, making room for him—at long last.

I framed his face in my hands, and kissed him with all the warmth I possessed. “Come back to my hotel with me tonight.”

He squeezed me tight, and kissed me until I was breathless. My fingers roamed over his sweater, gripping it tightly and holding him hard to me. When we pulled away, his eyes were dark and insanely sexy.

As he shut off the lights and locked the doors, I stood back by the front just watching him. There was no question in my mind that I was falling in love with him. I hated that word. Falling. It sounded so involuntary, as if this was an accident—and calling what I was feeling an ‘accident’ cheapened its experience. Falling was inherently scary. But I wasn’t afraid. I’d lived through heartbreak already, and lived with the hollow it left, and still I had a capacity for loving; I didn’t believe in letting it rot away, unnurtured. There was no such thing as too much love, not when there were millions of others in the world with not enough.

He hailed a cab back to my hotel, and we sat in the darkened silence, wrapped up in each other. My head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around mine. Our hands clasped in his lap, our breaths even, and a sense of comfort that had nothing to do with the heater, the smooth roads, or the driver’s skill. We kissed probably a hundred times in that car ride; soft, breathy kisses that moved into deeper, warmer kisses—tongues clashing and teeth nibbling.

We were quiet all the way through the hotel lobby, up the elevator, and down the hallway to my room. And once the door closed behind us, leaving us in the dark, I took the initiative and pushed him right up against the door.

His hands went to either side of my head, and yanked my face to his. I wrapped an arm around his neck and he stooped to pick me up, walking further into the room with my legs wrapped around his waist. He fell to the bed and in a fit of impatience, we were a tangle of legs and breaths as we kicked off our shoes. He tugged the sleeve of my dress down one shoulder and nipped along my exposed collarbone.

I gripped a fist in his hair, my nails biting into his skull, impatience dominating my entire body as I writhed on his lap, seeking more of him. He tugged the other sleeve of my dress off my shoulder and sucked at my skin, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses that cooled in the air of my hotel room.

My impatience won, causing me to push his shoulders down so he was flat on the bed. I crawled over him, my hair like a curtain around us, as his hands came up to my breasts and squeezed. The shock from it caused my head to bow and he flipped me over onto my back and ground his hips against mine.

I wanted to scream an answer, even though he hadn’t asked me a question. That pressure had scorched a line right through me. My hands fumbled on the buttons on the front of my dress, as he whipped his shirt off and undid his pants with a speed that I couldn’t match.

By the time he was shed of his clothing, I was still working on the last few buttons when he took over. In hindsight, a dress with two dozen buttons down the front was probably not my wisest choice for attire.

When the last button was finally free, he grasped the dress on either side and opened it up. He let out a sigh, and goosebumps lit my flesh.

The reverence in his eyes when they met mine was enough to make me feel like an earthquake had begun from the inside and was getting ready to break loose. He sat back on his haunches and reached for my hand, pulling me up into a sitting position so he could pull the dress all the way off of my shoulders.

When his finger teased the skin just under the strap of my bra, I lifted my face. He kissed me before I could kiss him, and ran a finger along the line of my spine until he came to the clasp of my bra. I tugged the straps down, eyes on him in the moonlight, until only the cups were supporting my breasts.

He wasn’t smiling—no, there was no humor in his face. He was completely serious, his eyes burning, and there was a tick making its presence known in his jaw. The bra came loose and slid down my body between us before he tossed it away. He scooped me up and leaned us forward on the bed, pulling the comforter back and laying me down on the cool sheets. Before covering me back up with the comforter, he grasped the sides of my panties and rolled them down until I was free of them, leaving me completely naked in the dark of the room.

His hands came to my knees, and then he pressed his palms in as he moved up the top of my thighs.

My breaths were coming quickly now, my chest heaving so much that it nearly made me self-conscious. But the way he took me in, the way he covered my body with his, his fingers linking with mine and holding them hostage above my head, I’d never felt safer.

And when we joined together, hips rising and falling, lips biting and opening for each sigh, I climbed faster than I had the first time. Anticipation was the greatest foreplay, I’d learned.

When we were sated, he rolled off of me before tugging me to him so my head could lay on his chest, right over his heartbeat. The staccato beats sounded like music, like the three words I could taste on my tongue, waiting to be unleashed from my mouth.

Thump-thump-thump.

I-love-you.

Thump-thump-thump.

I didn’t know how I was going to be able to leave him in eight more days.

His hands played with my hair, massaging into my scalp, and we said no words as I listened to the thump-thump-thump of his heart until I fell asleep.

When I awoke, he was sitting on the edge of my bed, a cup of coffee in his hands as he took in the painting on the wall.

“You look like you’re trying to unlock the mysteries of the world,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re not going to find them in that terrible painting.”

I watched the skin stretch on the side of his face before he turned to look at me, soft smile on his lips.

My eyes fell to the anchor on the inside of his bicep and I covered it with my hand. “I like this,” I told him, rubbing along the curved arm of it. “Why’d you get it?”

He leaned on the bed, and ran his fingers through the ends of my hair. “After I did a bit of traveling, seeing the world, I got the anchor.” He watched my finger trace the curves and lines. “London is my anchor; my home. This was the safe end to my journey.”

“And these?” I asked, touching the twin sparrows on his chest.

“‘Are not two sparrows for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.’” His smile was tinged with sadness. “When Mal died, I am not ashamed to say I felt forgotten. Why her? Why me? I was lost. Worthless.” He offered his cup of coffee to me. “One day, when I was struggling more than I was willing to show, Asher sat me down and talked to me. I swear, the man is so full of wisdom, I’m surprised it’s not leaking from his pores.” I handed him back his coffee and he took a sip. “And he told me that no matter how insignificant we feel, we are not nonexistent, swallowed up in the vastness of humanity. Even the smallest creatures have a purpose—and their perceived earthly value isn’t a reflection of their importance.”

“Damn, Asher is deep.”

Ames laughed. “He really is.”

“Intimidatingly so.” Ames looked away again, his mind somewhere else. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Just thinking a lot.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, so I gripped the sheet to my chest and scooted up to a sitting position. He looked at me for a moment before reaching forward and pulling the sheet down. I pulled it back up before he tugged it down again.

“Ames,” I said on a laugh. “This is not going to help you think.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be thinking right now.” He leaned toward me, but I put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“What’s up?”

I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he turned to face me. “I’m thinking about the restaurant.” He stared down at his coffee. “I was in contact with an estate agent who emailed me this morning. It’s going up for sale.”

There was no pretending that his voice didn’t sound somber, like he was giving up on the one thing that really mattered—outside of the people in his life.

“But Ames, you shouldn’t. You love it so much.”

“It’s going to cost a fortune to renovate, and it’ll mean that I spread myself too thin. I don’t want to make myself less available to the people who need me, not right now.”

“But if Lotte sells her studio—”

“She’s not going to.” His voice was harsher than I could remember it being, even in the beginning, before he’d known me. “That studio was her inheritance. She can go off to your country all she wants, but she doesn’t need to throw away the one good thing she has here.”

“Hey,” I whispered, putting a hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, and I could see the frustration drain away.

“Sorry.” He let out a breath. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But I should get going. I’m going to be meeting the agent at the restaurant and I need to clean it up after last night.” He tugged the sleeve up on his sweater to check on his watch. “And then Lotte’s coming into the pub so we can chat.”

The worry was gnawing at me, and I had to restrain myself from crawling off the bed and talking to him about Lotte, getting him to understand her. “Okay,” was all I said, resolving to go by the studio that morning to talk to Lotte.

“I didn’t expect to see you today!” Lotte said as she let me in, her smooth blonde hair pulled back into a restrictive bun. I took in the slippers she wore and the tight leotard.

“Practicing ballet today?”

“It’s good once in a while, especially when I feel my muscles tightening up from working in the kitchen.”

I followed her into the studio, taking my jacket off and tossing it on a hook. When I turned to face her, I felt very much like I was about to cross a threshold that would change everything for Ames and me.

Which was why I spent an hour stretching and working on my flexibility with Lotte before I blurted, “I know Ames is talking to you today.”

She paused, bringing her arm down from a stretch as her eyes shot to me. Suddenly, she seemed very vulnerable—her age stripped away from her, leaving her looking like a teenager that needed to be protected. Which she wasn’t, and that she didn’t.

“Shit,” I said and plopped to the ground. “I really have no business sticking myself in between you two, and I shouldn’t be doing this. But it goes against everything I believe not talking to you about it.”

Lotte clasped her hands in her lap and turned to me.

“When I was eighteen, I’d scarcely removed my cap and gown before my parents sat me down to talk to me about my plans—which was actually a conversation about their plans for me. My parents wanted me to figure out my career, to find my calling in a respectable field and do the right thing. Whatever the hell that was.” I squeezed my fingers into a fist to keep the blood flowing when it drained from my face, knowing what I was telling Lotte would only provide more resolve for her to do what she wanted to do.

“So, what did I do? I did everything they didn’t want me to do. I went to Africa for six months. That was the first thing. On my flight home, someone told me I had a pretty voice, so I tried out voice acting. I did okay with it. Mostly radio commercials. But it wasn’t anything I was intensely passionate about, so I didn’t dedicate myself to it. Not that it mattered, because it wasn’t good enough for my mom. You see, my brother was this … perfect kid. And I hate saying that, because no one’s perfect. But he was. He is. He handles every situation with grace, and manages to find a balance between doing the things he loves and pleasing my parents. The fact that he has a heart condition on top of it only adds fuel to my mother’s fire. Why can’t I be like him, you know?” I paused to swallow. “And in reaction to that, in not feeling like I was enough for her, I became enough for me. I did the things I wanted to do. I went to Canada for a summer and lived by the kindness of strangers I met on the Internet. I worked for my brother part-time instead of getting a ‘real job’ and I traveled the world with him. I fed my hunger to live as much I could, and it made me damn happy.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t make your parents happy.”

“Of course not. But that’s the thing: if I lived by their life rules, if I choked down all the things they wanted for me, I would never, ever be happy. I’d have eventually suffocated.”

“That’s what it feels like I’m doing.”

“I don’t know if Ames told you, but a few months ago, my boyfriend died.” Shock spread across her face, and I was grateful that Ames hadn’t told her everything about me. “He died, and if someone had given me a box like this,” I looked around the studio, “despite their best intentions, I would have felt like I was being smothered. Like I was being told what to do next, as if I was incapable of thinking for myself, making my own decisions.”

“You’ve put how I feel into words better than I can.”

I smiled and rubbed her knee. “I know Ames loves you, and wants to protect you. He has pure reasons for wanting you to keep the studio.”

“But they’re wrong.” She blinked rapidly and shook her head fast enough that some tendrils escaped from the bun. “He’s willing to break himself in half, supporting this studio that won’t be bringing in income, on the off-chance that I’ll return from my gallivanting—as he calls it—and want this place back.” She looked around the room. “But it’s not the only place in London where I could practice dance. If I even come back to London and still want to pursue dancing. He needs to keep the restaurant. That was his dream. It’s not fair for me to chase mine and for him to give his up.”

“He told me he’s meeting with an estate agent today for the restaurant.”

I could tell by the way her eyes widened that this was news to her. “So he’s just going to sell it? Without even talking to me about it? With the way he’s trying to micromanage me, and this place, and how he expects to have a say in what I want to do with my inheritance?” She stood up and I could practically see the rage waiting to splinter from her restless arms. “No. No!” She stalked across the room to her phone. She furiously tapped away on the screen as my stomach started to coil and unfurl.

Ames was going to be angry with me.

I closed my eyes when they started to burn. He was going to be livid with me. Just thinking about him this morning, the stormy look on his face just talking about it, knowing I essentially went behind his back was going to change us.

“I just emailed an estate agent. He’s not the only one who has one in their pocket.” She began pulling sweats on.

“Where are you going?”

“To tell him what an idiot he is.”

“Maybe I should go with you,” I said. “Maybe having it coming from us together will resonate with him.” I doubted it myself, but I didn’t want to send Lotte into the lion’s den alone.

“Come on then,” she said, and I followed her with a heaviness in my heart.

Ames was so surprised to see us both—I could tell the moment we walked in the door. What was probably even more surprising to him was our completely opposite reactions. Where Lotte was radiating anger, the only emotion I found myself able to hold was the rock-solid weight of sadness.

Lotte pointed a finger to the kitchen before stalking back there. Ames exchanged a look with me and I swallowed, not saying anything. Because all I could think was how I’d probably completely fucked up my relationship with him, and the hope for friendship was completely off the table.

Once we were back in the kitchen, I didn’t take my coat off, knowing I’d soon be leaving. Likely alone. The most torturous part of watching Lotte confront Ames was knowing that at the end of this conversation, he’d look at me like I’d betrayed him. Getting from point A to point B was inconsequential in and of itself. The result would remain the same.

“How dare you,” she said, punching a finger to his chest. “I cannot believe you put the restaurant up for sale without even talking to me.”

He glanced at me. “You knew I was considering it.”

“Considering it and doing it are not the same thing. I told you not to. I told you I wanted to sell the studio so I could help you with the restaurant.”

“And I told you that wouldn’t be happening. Ever.” His eyes hardened. “The studio is all you have. I’m not going to let you let it go while you go off adventuring temporarily.”

“Don’t assume it’ll be temporary. I might like it there. Maybe I’ll find an American boy and stay forever,” she snapped.

“Don’t be a child, Charlotte.”

Her eyes narrowed and if I wasn’t emotionally invested in the conversation, I could have found it fascinating, to see this young woman I’d known as innocent and demure all riled up.

“A child? You think me a child? If I’m a child, you’re a traitor. Going behind my back and pulling one over on me by listing the restaurant before we could rationally talk about it?”

“We have talked about it.”

“And you haven’t listened!” She flung her hands out. “You’re too busy bending over backward, doing everything for everyone, to have a shred of common sense. It doesn’t make sense to hold onto a building that isn’t bringing in income, in the hopes that I’ll maybe want it again, some day in the future.”

“It doesn’t make sense to sell it to fund my pet project.”

“Do you think I’m truly that stupid, Ames? That restaurant wasn’t your pet project. It was yours and it was Mal’s. And you’re going to let it go just so I can keep the studio.”

“It doesn’t make sense to hold onto it, not when it’s never once brought in an income,” he replied, repeating her words back to her.

“It hasn’t had the chance! You’re not giving it the chance it deserves. I had my fun with the studio. And I’m done now. I’m okay.”

Ames turned to me. “Why did you come with her?” he asked me, and his voice lost all the trace of warmth I’d ever known it to have.

Lotte interjected, “Because she’s the only one in this family who understands me. She’s been where I am. When she was nineteen. I’m twenty-three, and I’ve been doing the same thing for three years, since Mal and mum died. I’m tired of it. I’m stifled. I don’t want to stay here and do the same thing for the rest of my life. I’m not like you.”

“You’re only twenty-three. You don’t know what you want yet.” He turned to me and shook his head, and I swore I could feel the shake all the way in my chest. “I can’t believe you went behind my back, after our talk this morning.”

I swallowed. “It wasn’t a real talk, Ames. You need to see her side. You need to understand where she’s coming from.” It felt like I was listening to my brother giving advice.

He laughed humorlessly, “So, what? You think because we’re,” he waved his hand between us, “doing whatever we’re doing, that gives you the right to interject yourself into conflicts that are none of your business?”

“No, I don’t think that at all. She wanted advice. I gave it to her. And yes, I did go behind your back in telling her about you selling the restaurant, but I couldn’t believe you hadn’t told her yourself.”

“I can’t believe you. You’re here,” he rapped his knuckles on the table I sat at, “temporarily. For, what, another week? And you’ve meddled your way into every single facet of my life like you intended to be here in a permanent way?”

It felt like a tennis ball was lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow it down or spit it out. “I’m not trying to make my temporary visit a permanent impression upon your life,” I said, but didn’t really believe it myself. There was no use in denying it—I’d fallen in love with Ames, and sitting here, listening him talk to me like this, was taking all that newness in my heart and forcing it to crack.

“So, what, you just wanted to have a bit of fun with an Englishman, then? Play with him for a while until you bounced back to America and went on about your life like this—like I—was nothing?”

The direction of conversation gave me momentary whiplash. “Ames. I mean, we had three weeks. I don’t think either of us meant for it to be more.”

“Right. I sure didn’t. I knew this was temporary—that’s really the only reason I warmed up to you.”

I’d expected him to be hurt. I’d prepared for it. But I hadn’t expected him to take the knife and turn it on me. I tried to breathe around the painful mass in my chest. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you are temporary. I loved my wife.” He held his fist to his chest, his eyes angry. “That was the great love of my life. I don’t have the capacity for anything other than that.”

“I didn’t ask you for anything,” I whispered. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“And what? Prove you’re right? That you know how to grieve better, that you know better than I do what’s right for my family?”

“Ames.” Lotte stepped forward, and I’d forgotten she was still there. My face burned from unshed tears and embarrassment. “She was just trying to help.”

“Well, she didn’t, did she?” He looked at me a moment longer, his eyes filled with cold fury. He turned away from me. “Lotte, I don’t want you to sell the studio.”

“Why are you pushing me so much on this? I’m going to do it, with or without your permission.”

“Mal wouldn’t have wanted you to get rid of it.”

“And she would’ve wanted you to get rid of the restaurant? The last tangible thing on earth that was hers, and yours, together?”

She’d cornered him there. His jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed. “Not at the cost of losing your studio.”

Lotte stepped right up into his face. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this to you until you’ll listen to me. I. Don’t. Want. It. I don’t. It’s just a place. It doesn’t have the meaning the restaurant does. It’s a place that someone else picked for me.” She paused and turned away for a second. “You may have loved my sister, known her as your equal for most of your life. But she was my sister. And no matter what you think, I know she’d have never chosen for you to be a martyr. Not ever.

“I don’t want the studio. I am not Mal. You can’t keep me safe by keeping me in a cage. I don’t want the plan everyone else has for me. But you want that restaurant.” Her voice broke on want. “And you’re going to let it go just to keep my unwanted studio alive. You’re really an idiot.”

She bolted from the room then and I stared at the ground. I could feel Ames’ eyes on me, so after a beat, I looked up at him. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice breaking. “I tried not to insert myself into your argument, but I feel for her, Ames. She’s so much like me.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth before saying, “Why are you still here?”

I’d never been more aware of my heart than right then, when he looked at me with contempt and derision, with the coldness I’d never known he possessed.

Until that moment, I had no idea that romantic love could have so many thorns.