Sam leaned in, inch by inch, so slow that I could taste the anticipation. And then he kissed me, while we were thousands of feet in the air.

When he pulled away, his face was soft, his eyes looking at me like he was savoring me. It might’ve been my imagination, because I was savoring him. He looked so handsome, black beanie over his hair, strong jaw and firm mouth. But the corners of his lips lifted a little in a smile.

I leaned in, pressed my lips to his chest, and whispered my secret. I love you.

Never was that feeling stronger than right now, as we soared above the clouds, above everything that awaited us below. In the sky, it was just Sam and me, and everything was okay.

I settled against his chest, as we enjoyed the rest of the ride in silence.

As the balloon made its descent, the pilot explained that thanks to the calm winds, we’d luckily experience a “stand up landing.” He pointed to the field that we were headed toward.

“When we land, please stay still until I’ve given the go-ahead to climb out. We don’t want the balloon to try to take off as you’re exiting the gondola.”

Sam rubbed my back, the tension he’d carried completely wiped away. He even seemed to be enjoying the ride. It was so much different than I’d expected. Very steady, and a floating feeling on the way up into the sky.

As the ground came closer and closer, I realized just how … spiritual the experience in the sky had felt. Being close to Sam as the world became smaller had given me a new feeling, like gratitude but pushed to the point of being overwhelming.

The balloon landed more softly than I expected, just a little bump and we were flat on the ground. The pilot reminded us to be still as he released some of the hot air, and then encouraged us to get out of the balloon, one by one.

Sam picked me up once he was outside of the balloon and lifted me over.

“We did it!” I told him, now that we were back on solid ground.

He laughed, hooked an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me to him. “We did. How do you feel?”

“Like I just had the most majestic experience of my life.” I nuzzled against him. “You?”

“I feel like I had a revelation.”

I looked at him quizzically, but he just gave me a small smile.

“Come on,” he said. “They serve champagne and breakfast after these.”

After we got back to the hotel, we were both so tired from the late night we’d had and the fact that we’d gotten up so early that we cuddled together and fell asleep until the late afternoon.

Sam woke me up by dropping soft kisses to my neck.

“Mmm,” I murmured as I stretched. “That’s nice.”

He held my arms above my head as he kissed up my skin. He stopped just at my elbow. “Your freckles here,” he said, tapping the cluster of freckles below my elbow. But he didn’t continue his thought, kissing across my neck to my other shoulder. “Your skin is nice,” he said.

I was pretty sure my skin could sing for him, based on the way he touched and teased me.

“You know what I find fascinating, Lotte?”

“What’s that, Sam?”

He propped himself up beside me and dragged his fingers lazily up and down my chest. “That I could be as close to you as I’ve been the last few days, and still not feel like I’m close enough. I have a persistent desire to be nearer, even when we’re skin to skin.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, and I did. I didn’t like to move away from him, because it felt like I was always working on getting closer and closer. “But you can spend the rest of the day working on it.”

“And the night.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “And all the days and nights that follow.”

He wasn’t a poet, but he had a poet’s mouth. I was amazed that I could be this comfortable with him, that our talk the night before had torn down any bit of anxiety I felt around him. It was our last full day in the States, and I worried what would happen when we got home. I loved him, but I was afraid. I thought about what Sam said about fear, how love can’t exist without it. There was nothing safe about loving him. And that’s why I did.

“What’s this frown for?” he asked, rubbing at the skin between my brows.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen when we’re home, out of this bubble we’ve found ourselves in.”

“Well,” he began, and tucked hair behind my ear. “We’re going to have to separate long enough to work, and have alone time, but otherwise we’re going to be together.”

“You make that sound so easy,” I said on a groan and rolled to my side so I could face him. “What about everyone else?”

“You mean Ames?”

I nodded. “Him … and others.”

“Della.” That time, it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

“Well, Ames might be best if I talk to him first. He’s probably going to hate me a bit, because he knows I’m not good enough for you.”

“Shut up,” I said. I playfully punched him. “Stop saying that, Sam.” I tugged on his earlobe to get his attention. “You are so good. So kind. So gentle. So stubborn. Therefore, I disagree.”

His eyes were that lazy kind of soft, a look that made my stomach feel lighter than air. “And Della,” he said, not addressing what I said. “Well, I’ll just toss my phone, change my number, change my address.”

“Easy peasy.”

He laughed. “Exactly.” He played with the ends of my hair. “And we’re both going to fight our demons.”

Even then, my hands itched to tug my hair. I knew I shouldn’t, but it was tempting. I couldn’t imagine stopping, but I knew I needed to.

“You can talk to someone,” he said.

“I talk to you.”

“Someone who’s trained, who can help you.”

“And you?” I asked. “You’ll quit?”

“I have to. I want to. I just know I can’t wean myself; that’s not effective. I guess I’ll get on methadone, or something.”

“Okay,” I said, but it sounded like fantasyland. Him quitting, cutting Della out of his life. And me, stopping the compulsion that caused me to pull. “You know, I didn’t think addicts could conceal it as well as you do.” I braced myself, after saying that. It felt foreign, to call him an addict so plainly.

“I’m a functioning addict. Not all of us live on the streets. I’ve managed to hide it very well—but I’ve nearly slipped up a time or two. I’ve never stolen from anyone … until I nearly did earlier today.” He looked me over.

“But why not tell anyone? Not even Ames? He’s your best mate.”

“He is. But he’s been burdened by a lot of grief in his life, and for a time, after your sister’s death, he came to me for levity. It didn’t feel right, to dump my problems into his lap. For him to worry about something else.”

“See? Even though I don’t agree with you, you are a good man. You don’t want to cause more stress on your closest friend, so you endure alone.”

“Sounds like a badly written martyr,” he said wryly.

“Sounds,” I whispered, dropping a kiss to his mouth, “like,” another kiss, “you.” I held the third kiss a bit longer and when I pulled back, he sighed softly.

“And on that token, what is it that you get from the pulling? You’ve managed to hide it well, too.”

My hand went to my hair, and his eyes tracked the movement. But I dropped my arm. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. When I pull, it’s an instant relief.” I chewed on my lip. “But when I pull out a few at a time, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough—if that makes sense. That hurts. And sometimes I pull and pull and pull, waiting for the relief. It’s a distraction, I think. It’s the one thing that grounds me when I feel like things are out of my control.”

He sighed a little, pushing my hair from my face. “You need another way to cope, then.”

I nodded. “And so do you.”

As dark approached and the reminder of our flights the next day hit us, we kept talking, kept touching, kept holding each other. It was if we’d formed a cocoon together, and we were realizing how soon we’d have to leave it.

Sometime around midnight, Sam began kissing down my chest, undoing the buttons on my shirt, one-by-one.

“Sam,” I said on a breath. “We’ve got a flight in six hours.”

“Oh, good. That gives us six hours to enjoy one another.”

I laughed, and shoved at him, but he didn’t budge. He kept up his lazy foreplay, kissing just about every inch of my skin as he exposed it. Time passed, but I didn’t pay attention.

When he had peeled my knickers off my legs and tossed them behind his head, I glanced at the clock. “It’s almost one in the morning. Now, we’ve got five hours until our flight.”

“Oh, screw the bloody clock,” he said, picking it up and tossing it to the floor. “Let me enjoy you a while longer.”

And he did.