“Oh, Sam, that’s lovely,” my mum said, grasping my arm with her hand and squeezing. “A hot air balloon ride. Never done that myself.”

“Yes, it is, Bronwen,” Mila added.

I clenched my jaw and nodded, looking at Lotte who was staring at the floor.

She had every right to be angry with me. Fuck, I was a bloody idiot. I rubbed the back of my neck, wanting to reach forward and pull her in for a hug. Why?

I shouldn’t have come to this brunch. It was too personal, when I’d been completely impersonal with her. I should have never touched her. Not once.

“Yeah,” I finally said, replying to my mum. “I haven’t either, that pesky afraid of heights thing.” It didn’t matter what kind of blathering I’d do; I’d severely disappointed Lotte. I had my reasons, but standing in front of her, all that pale skin and head bent down, obscuring her face from my view—the last thing on my mind were those reasons. I couldn’t even recall one.

There was this punishing dichotomy playing out behind my eyelids: Lotte’s skin, Lotte’s sighs, her smiles—which was then rudely interrupted with Lotte’s eyes when I’d told her I shouldn’t have touched her. Her deep, passion-filled eyes, filled with hurt.

“Here, let me get you more juice,” I said to no one in particular as I walked away from an increasingly awkward position. Surely, someone at the table would need some juice.

I was given the brief reprieve of being in the back, in the kitchen, and I braced my hands on the counter, letting my head hang.

I’d had way too much alcohol the night before. And it’d been hours since I’d taken any of my pills. I’d needed one upon waking, but trying to come to grips with the mistakes I’d made had taken precedence.

There was nothing more singularly frustrating than being in the presence of someone who you wanted to push and pull simultaneously. Lotte had crept up on me, starting from the kiss I’d never admitted to remembering and culminating with last night—a perfect night—a night that reminded me just how much better than me she was, and what she deserved.

I dug the bottle from my pocket and shook one white pill into my hand. I rolled it with my thumb for a moment, the markings on the pill engraved in my brain. Back to the first time I’d swallowed one. Which had been years ago, back when they’d been prescription and not purchased off of friends. Off of Della.

Della. She’d texted me that morning, asking when I’d be coming ‘round. I gritted my teeth at the thought of enduring her insufferable presence for more than an hour. Because it wasn’t enough for me to give her cash for the pills, she wanted more of my time, more of my company.

Running my hand down my face, I tried to retrace my steps to how I’d gotten here, to this point. Hiding in my best mate’s pub just to take a pill that I couldn’t explain the need for.

I swallowed it dry—the bitter coating no longer a problem for me. If anything, I’d developed a conditional response to that bitterness. For all I knew, these pills were merely placebo—but the psychological reasoning was stronger than the pill itself. I needed to numb myself from everything else around me. All those cheery faces—except for the one person who should’ve been cheery.

Without a thought, I slammed my palm flat to the table. The level of idiocy I possessed was truly unmatched. I shouldn’t have been alone with her. She just looked so happy—so light. Part of me wanted to know what it felt like to hold her in my hands, as if she belonged to me. I was selfish—nothing new. I wanted a bit of that light, to let it pour over me. And I’d realized too late what I’d done.

And, ah, to hold her. She was so … small. Like holding a bird. Her blue eyes had looked at me with trust, and perhaps a bit of longing, and I’d taken horrible advantage of that. Of her. The night before she was to leave.

I’d kept my distance from her for the last few years, ever since that kiss. I didn’t know how to bring it up to her again, without talking about the night her sister died. But she was the person I always sought out when I came into the bar. And until last night, I’d kept myself in check.

Withdrawal sweats prickled my brow and I swiped my sleeve over it, knowing soon I’d be back to normal. Or, whatever could pass as normal for me.

Suddenly remembering why I’d ventured into the kitchen, I spun around and grabbed the carafe of juice.

I was close to the door when she walked through.

“Fuck,” I mumbled, backing up. “Sorry.”

She eyed me for a moment before abruptly looking away. “I just…” she wrung her hands together, “thanks. That was really kind of you.”

I swallowed. “It was nothing. Just thought if you were going all that way to look at some sand and rocks, you could view it from up high. Maybe with a friend, so you’re not alone.”

A small smile flitted through her lips, and once again I cursed myself for the part I had in removing it in the first place. She was so small, so conditioned to lowering her head in my presence. I hated that I could stand to breathe in the same air as her and know I couldn’t touch her again. Couldn’t taint her. “I know. I’m looking forward to that.” She was still looking at the floor, and part of me wanted to leave this conversation and part of me wanted to look her in the eyes, to see how much I’d hurt her.

Because I was a total arse, I did the second.

“Lotte, why won’t you look at me?”

A wrinkle formed in her perfect ivory skin, right between her eyebrows. “It’s fine. I’m just hungover a bit, and tired.”

“You’re mad.”

She sighed, turning so her back was to me. I shouldn’t have looked at her the way I was looking at her. Her clothes were simple, but their fit was not. I turned my head away so I wouldn’t stare at her, remembering how … exquisite she’d looked without all that clothing.

This was decidedly not the time for me to be having these thoughts.

“I’m not mad, Sam. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. And once again, I debated—pathetically briefly—whether or not to push her. And, once again, I did the arsehole thing.

“Why can’t you look at me then?”

She wrapped her arms around herself like armor, and I mentally kicked my shins for making her feel like she needed it. But then she turned, scoffed, and I realized I’d misinterpreted her body language.

“Because I don’t feel like it, Sam. Because I don’t like looking people in the eye.” She frowned and looked to the side, like a woman who was used to feeling the way I’d clearly made her feel. “I’m shy. In case you haven’t noticed. Why would you?” She laughed, but there was no humor in her face.

It was pure instinct. That’s how I rationalized it to myself. Pulling her into my arms, wrapping myself around her—again—when I shouldn’t have even continued speaking to her.

To her credit, it took several long seconds before she released the tension wracking her body and half-hugged me back.

In the dim lighting of the kitchen, with one bulb blinking its last bits of life above us, I wished I could take back my actions the night before.

I’d laid in bed with her in my arms, my ear pressed against her back, and just listened to her heart beating for what must have been an hour before I’d drifted off to sleep myself. It held such a unique beat, something that echoed in my head even now, as I felt her pulse in where I pressed my lips to the top of her head.

Something I realized the night before was that I couldn’t get close enough to her. I’d kissed her, I’d touched her, I’d slid inside her, and still, I felt like it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be closer, always.

I ached to rub my hand down her back, soothingly, but I figured that was not what she wanted from me right now. Instead, I ran just the side of my thumb against her shoulder blade.

When she pulled away, she gave me a smile that was somehow sadder than before. “Thanks. Probably should get back.”

She turned, her white blonde hair fluttering out of my vision along with the moment I shouldn’t have taken but definitely had.

When I returned to the table, I felt Bianca’s eyes on me. Had Lotte said anything to her? That was the last thing I needed. Bianca knowing my business. That girl was something else, someone not to be trusted. Why in the hell had Lotte stayed her friend?

As if to challenge her measured stare, I met Bianca’s eyes slowly. Her lids narrowed into slats and a smile curved her lips. There was nothing good about the way she looked at me.

I handed the juice to Mila, who looked like she’d just downed her juice as if she was the undesignated recipient in need of a refill. She gave me a contrite look and my lips flattened in confusion.

Quickly, Mila skirted her eyes to Lotte and then back to me. Had Lotte told her? Shit. This wasn’t a possibility I’d considered.

If my best mate’s fiancée knew I had shagged his sister, it wouldn’t be long until he knew. And he’d rightfully bash me up aside the head.

As if she possessed clairvoyance, she quickly nodded her head. I’d been around her for nearly a year now, and I knew she was sending me a message in just a couple subtle gestures.

Lotte’s father made a toast to her, and everyone clinked glasses—except Lotte bypassed my glass entirely in favor of everyone else’s. When she took a sip, she looked quickly at me over the rim before downing the rest of it.

Her blue eyes had a bit of bruising under them, and in the lighting of the pub, it just made the shadows more pronounced. I had a brief, desperate moment where I wanted to swipe my finger over the skin, as if my touch—which had likely caused the dark circles—could erase them. I could imagine all the colors I’d use to paint her. Blues and roses and golds, striking across a white canvas. She’d been best captured in a blur, because that’s the mark she’d have upon my life. Because that was what was best. For her.

I was such a bloody idiot. I wanted to hang my head here at the table. Whatever punishment Ames would dole out upon learning of my transgression would be just.

I couldn’t stop looking at her. Sure, the attention of the table was on her because it was her farewell. But—as cliché as it sounds—it was as if I was seeing her in a new light. When she lifted her fork, the most slender little gold bracelet traveled down the pale skin of her arm, coming to rest right against a collection of birthmarks that resembled a constellation. But which one was it?

I could remember the story of the constellation—something to do with a harp.

Okay, so maybe I couldn’t remember it too clearly. But the dots were so distinct that I stared at that cluster of marks on her skin until it came to me.

“Lyra,” I said, intending to say it under my breath. But the way multiple heads turned my way made me realize I’d said it out loud.

“What’s that?” Ames asked.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Something for a painting I’m doing.” Not entirely a fib.

“Oh, right.” He turned his attention back to Asher and I turned mine away from the Lyra constellation of freckles on Lotte’s arm.

“So where are you staying?”

Lotte turned her attention to my mum. “Well, mostly hotels and cabins. I’ll be doing some camping here and there as well, so I’ve got a tent and a pack.”

Ames laughed lightly. “I can’t imagine you camping, tent in tow, building a fire.”

Lotte turned her attention to him. “I’ve been camping before.”

“The caravan doesn’t count, Lots,” Asher butted in. “That had a bathroom. A door.”

Lotte shrugged. “I’m not going to know what it’s like until I do it, right?”

“In campgrounds?” I asked.

Lotte paused, but didn’t turn her gaze to me. “Yes. And maybe other places.”

I didn’t like this plan. For some unnamed reason, it just didn’t sit well with me. And it had nothing to do with the fact that Lotte would be in the company of another man—a stranger. Well, maybe it wasn’t all due to that. She was so slight in built. So … delicate. I could hardly imagine her commanding a dance floor—which I knew she did often—but commanding the wilderness was another beast entirely.

“I just don’t understand why you’d go on holiday … to a place where there isn’t even plumbing.” Bianca put a hand on Lotte’s shoulder that seemed like she intended to comfort her, but her tone wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

“America has plumbing,” Lotte said. “It’s just some of the campgrounds don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

“It sounds wretched,” Bianca said, slicing her French toast into slivers. “Bugs. I hear they have huge bugs over there.”

“They’re just bugs.” Despite the coolness of Lotte’s reply, I could tell Bianca was rattling her a little. “We have snakes here.”

“But you’re going to rattlesnake territory. Aren’t they deadly, Sam?”

I shot my head to Bianca. Why was she roping me into this conversation? And how much did I want to contribute, really, when it was obvious that Lotte was supremely uncomfortable as it was? “I couldn’t tell you, I don’t often keep the company of snakes.” Unless they were named Della, I thought.

“I hear they’re deadly. You’re going to be staying in a thin plastic tent in the land of bears and wolves and mountain lions and snakes. I don’t get the appeal.”

Seconds before she erupted, I watched Lotte’s hands tighten on her silverware. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re not going then, isn’t it?” she lightly snapped.

All the chatter around the table silenced and Bianca looked at Lotte like Lotte had physically slapped her.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, like a fish, before she finally said, “I guess you’re right,” and swallowed the rest of her drink. “I hate to run, but I am dead on my feet from working all night.” She made a groaning noise, and paused before standing. I’d been in her company enough to know that she was waiting for someone to ask her how things were going, so she could regale us for the next hour with tales of all the celebrities she’d rubbed shoulders with.

But either everyone else was as uninterested as I was, or they weren’t paying attention because Bianca left moments later, after a quick and awkward hug with Lotte.

As brunch winded down, Lotte grew more fidgety. She was playing with her hair, with her silverware, but everyone else was engrossed in conversation.

Her fingers were long, but still delicate. She spread them wide on the table and then curled the tips under, as if she was in search of something. When her nail grazed against an imperfection in the wood, she stopped her movements and explored it. I didn’t know why this intrigued me so much, but it did.

Her head lifted, our gazes colliding for a brief moment, before she turned those bright blue eyes away.

“I should get going,” she said softly. “I want to get there plenty early. Just in case.”

“Right,” Ames said, standing up and stretching. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into helping me with the dishes, huh? One last time before the road?”

“Oh, Ames,” Mila said with a playful slap on his arm. “She’s not your employee anymore.” She looped an arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re actually leaving.”

A small smile curved Lotte’s lips. “Me neither.” Her gaze traveled across the group of us, pausing a little bit longer on me before she kept looking around. “This is it.”

“Let me get your bags and we’ll load up a taxi,” Ames said and disappeared.

My mum turned and gave Lotte the hug that her own mother couldn’t. She rocked her gently, back and forth, and something about the two of them, embracing in a way that said ‘family’ caused me to grip the back of my chair a little too tightly.

Lotte’s dad took his turn next, putting the necklace he’d picked for her around her neck, and then holding the sides of her head as he said a prayer over her.

It was too intimate for me to witness. I turned around, bringing dishes to the kitchen. I needed a distraction, a reason not to keep staring at her with this overwhelming feeling of … something I couldn’t name. Some intrusive feeling, that made me feel like I was letting something—someone—slip out of my grasp.

It was particularly frustrating because I knew I had no right to feel like that.

She wasn’t mine to lose, I reminded myself.

Ames hit the bottom of the steps and pushed a suitcase toward me. “Help me bring these to the taxi?”

I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the suitcase and stared at it. In seconds, I’d be putting this in the back of a taxi and saying goodbye to Lotte. The girl who’d always been here, in this pub, hiding behind her sister or her brother-in-law, the girl who wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman.

Lotte was in Mila’s arms when we entered the pub from the kitchen, giving Ames pause.

“You got a good one,” I told him as Mila wiped moisture from her cheeks. “She loves your family as much as you do.

“I know.” Ames was quiet, but there was a smile on his lips. Mila was the second woman he’d fallen in love with, and after being widowed while young, I wondered what it was like to love someone as completely as he had loved Mal—Lotte’s sister. And then, to love again. He was braver than I.

The night Mal had died seemed like a million years ago, but I remembered sitting in the hospital with Ames for hours, staring at Lotte in the corner of the room, tears silently streaming down her face, eschewing comfort from everyone. Seeing those tears on her face now, again, but with Mila holding her like she was as close as a sister as she could be, made me feel like she’d come full circle in a way.

But that didn’t make me feel any more comfortable with the sight of Lotte’s eyes swimming with tears. She turned over her shoulder, capturing me with those red-rimmed eyes, and I felt it deep then. The hurt she was feeling. I didn’t understand it, but just looking at her … I felt it.

Ames was steps ahead of me, pulling her in his arms. “I’ve called a taxi. Should be here any minute and then we’ll go.”

Lotte shook her head. “I think … I mean, I’d like to go to the airport alone.”

Ames pulled back, surprise on his face. “But you’ve never even flown.”

She wiped at the tears that slid over her cheeks. “I’ve never done a lot of things, but I’m going to do them.” She looked down at the ground and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to cry at the airport too,” she said with a watery laugh.

“Oh, and I don’t blame you.” Mila still had a protective arm around Lotte, and she tipped her head until they connected. “I’m gonna miss you, Lots.”

“See?” Lotte said on another laugh, sniffling as she brushed away the tears. “I don’t want to cry anymore. I want to get it out here.” She braced a hand on the table, her fingers splayed out. “I’m going to miss this place,” she said wistfully.

“It’ll be here.” Ames pulled her into his arms, and though they looked nothing alike—him with his olive skin against her pale skin and hair—you could practically feel the roots of family connecting all of us together. “No small thanks to you.” He pulled away, holding her face in his hands. “Have fun, but be safe, okay?”

She nodded, the tears overflowing for her now.

“The taxi is here,” Lotte’s dad said, looking out the window.

We all turned, and Ames and I began carrying the suitcases out of the pub.

This was it. She was seconds away from leaving.

Ames opened the back door and shoved the suitcases in as Lotte approached. He gave her one long hug and then Lotte was in front of me, waiting.

It was on my tongue to tell her I was sorry again. But before I could, she stepped against me, her face against my sweater for one long moment. My hand found hers and I held it as I leaned against the taxi. Her heart was beating fast, I could feel the pulse from where my fingers pressed into her wrist.

“You don’t have to go,” I told her, quietly so only she could hear. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.” I didn’t know why I felt the call to say that, there was no reason for me to say it. I didn’t want her to leave. But, at the same time I did.

“If I don’t go,” she said, her eyes the clearest I’d ever seen them, “I’ll never know that I don’t want more.”

“More.” I swallowed the word down. More was bigger than the pub, than the flat, than me. She deserved more. I wanted more, but not the same kind of more.

I wanted to say so many things, give her the things I couldn’t give, the things she deserved. And, as if she knew I’d been just a couple breaths from saying it, she waited patiently. I wonder how long she’d waited for things like this, patient, eyes and heart open.

Too many times, I’d decided. “You’re going to miss your flight.” It sounded hollow, but hollow was better than anything else I could think to say.

She pulled away, looked at me with eyes too full of everything that was unsaid between us, and then climbed into the taxi. I didn’t let go of her hand until she pulled away.

Ames shut the door and the taxi started down the road, Lotte’s white blonde head the only thing we could see until it disappeared around the corner.

“I can’t believe she’s actually gone,” Ames said, clapping me on the back. “Our little Lotte.”

“She’s family.” Because she was. She was the sister of my best mate’s late wife—there was no word for that. Family was what Lotte was. And now she was gone. And I’d have to tell Ames what happened before his fiancée did.

“I’m worried about her,” Ames admitted as we stood on the street, long after the taxi had disappeared.

“I know. But she’s strong.”

“She is,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I turned to him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No,” he said on a laugh. “I’m glad you’re here, because I need help with the dishes.”

As I followed Ames into the pub, I took a brief second to take stock of the moment, of what her goodbye had meant for me. It felt like I’d lost something that wasn’t mine to begin with. Something good, something precious. And not for the first time, I felt like a total bloody bastard.