My body thrummed with a nervous energy as I stepped out onto the street with Emmett just behind me.

I knew it had been a risk to try going to the concert that night. I thought my overreaction on Thursday night might have been enough for him to write me off forever. I was certain he could get any guy or girl he wanted in town, and he was no stranger to flirtation, so why would he care about keeping me around?

By now, he’d found out the truth about me: I prioritized work above everything. It was what led to the downfall of my relationship with Joseph, and there was no reason not to think Emmett saw the red flag and was running for the hills. Sure, Thursday night actually had been an emergency, but I knew I’d been far colder to him than I needed to be.

All I had to offer him tonight was an apology and a drink, and miraculously, he’d said yes.

And God, had I wanted that. From my spot in the back of the club I’d seen him moving his body, jumping and thrashing in a way that would have thrown out my neck in about two seconds flat. But it had looked perfectly natural to him, and even more so when he’d been on the stage, decked out in all-black clothes with his dark hair wild.

I’d been completely transfixed. He’d looked entirely free, without a care in the world for what anyone thought of him.

I didn’t know if I’d ever been like that.

And out here on the street, it was even more evident. His eyes were clear, his usual downcast gaze nowhere to be found. He seemed so alive, and the feeling was immediately contagious. I felt alive when I was around him, too.

“So, was that your first punk show ever?” Emmett asked as we started sauntering down the street in the Promenade.

I nodded. “I haven’t exactly been known to frequent them.”

“Wow,” he said, “Well, I’m glad I got to be there for your first time. What did you think?”

I took in a deep breath of cool air, walking underneath the low-hanging trees strung with twinkling lights. “At the risk of sounding completely lame… it was just brash. I’d probably be deaf right now if it weren’t for those earplugs.”

Emmett laughed softly, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as we walked. “Yeah, that is kind of the point,” he said.

“The point is to go deaf?”

“No, the point is to get lost in the music. It kind of…” he gestured with his hands, in a big vague sweeping motion, “…erases everything else in the world.”

“You love it, don’t you?” I asked softly.

He nodded. “I absolutely love it.”

“How come?” I asked. “I’m not trying to be thick, here, I’m just genuinely curious.”

He looked up toward the sky, letting out a long breath, lost in thought. “Honestly?” he said, “Punk was the outsiders’ music, and I was an outsider. I started listening to it in high school because the only kids that really accepted me into their group were the punk kids. They didn’t care that I was bi, didn’t care that all the popular kids hated me. Actually, it was probably a plus.”

“That’s actually really sweet,” I said.

“I know. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, like I had a home. And, of course, the loud music was perfect for an angry teenager, riddled with hormones and feelings.”

“Pesky feelings,” I said, “always getting in the way.”

“Being part of the punk scene made me feel cool when nothing else did. It was my escape.” I glanced at Emmett, his face alight in the glow of the Promenade, and saw how genuine he was at that moment. I knew I’d never enjoy that type of music, but knowing what it had meant to him gave it a depth that I didn’t know was there.

Emmett kicked a rock ahead of us, and it clattered over the cobblestone pavement. A few paces later, I kicked it back ahead of him. We took turns knocking it back and forth between us as we talked, making sure not to hit any other people walking down the street with it.

“You want to know something lame?” I asked, a small grin on my face.

“I definitely do,” Emmett said.

“I think for me, that ‘escape’ was school itself,” I said. I expected Emmett to laugh, but he turned to me, his face sincere.

“You mean you felt at home there?” he asked.

“Not so much at home as… in control,” I said. “My house growing up was never bad, but it was tense. My mom was always working overtime, always struggling to keep the electricity on. She was good to me, but she couldn’t hide her own anxiety, and I know I picked up on it.”

“So school was a safe haven from that?”

I nodded. “Exactly. I knew that if I worked hard and studied hard at school, I could do well. I could get good grades. And that maybe I wouldn’t have to raise a kid in that same environment, always wondering if we’d be keeping the roof over our head.”

“Did you get bullied too?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t, actually. I consider myself lucky to have mostly been invisible in school.”

Emmett puffed out a laugh. “I certainly was not invisible. I made sure of that.”

We walked a few more paces before coming up on one of the biggest bars in the Promenade, The Rose Room. From the street, I could see that it was jam-packed, full of the Saturday night crowds. We stood outside the front door for a moment, watching another large group of about ten people making their way inside.

“That looks…” I started.

“…Insane,” Emmett said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I thought for a minute you were going to want to go in and keep up the energy of the concert.”

Emmett turned to me, shaking his head. “Definitely not. I got out enough energy back there. I’m ready for something calmer.”

We strolled up and down the cobblestone walkways, peering into a couple other bars. The first, we agreed, seemed far too college-aged, with kids in their early twenties packing the place and making out in every corner. Another bar just seemed a little too downcast—there were only two other people there, lazily playing a game of pool, and a bartender that looked like he was asleep. We wanted something relaxing, not comatose.

“Hmm,” Emmett said, turning to me on the street corner. He glanced up at me from under his lashes, like he was calculating something in his head. “Y’know… a few weeks ago when I was feeling monumentally sorry for myself, I stopped on the way home and treated myself to this really expensive bottle of gin. It’s a brand I always see and never buy because I always think it’ll be way too fancy for me. And guess what?”

“What?”

“I don’t really even like it. It tastes like soap. I kind of prefer the mid-range gin, actually.”

I gasped in mock horror. “How could you?”

He shook his head. “I know, I know. I’m the worst, right?”

“Want to know a secret, Emmett?”

His eyes met mine, and after a pause, he nodded once.

“Those fancy bottles of wine I had at my house the other night were gifts from Stella,” I said. “My go-to is a boxed wine I get from Costco. Trust me when I tell you, I’m not going to report you to the liquor police for hating expensive gin.”

“I knew I liked you,” he said.

“My boxed wine brings all the boys to the yard,” I joked.

“So… what we could do,” Emmett said, pressing his hands together, “is go to the mini-mart, pick up some tonic and limes to mix that gin with, and go back to my house and kill that awful bottle.” He raised his eyebrows, awaiting my response.

I realized I’d been silent for a few moments, stunned.

“Emmett,” I said, gazing at him in the glow of the street lamps. “Did you just do what I think you did?”

“What?” he asked.

“Did you invite me over to your place?”

“Oh, come on—” he started.

“No, no, I just want to make sure I’ve got this right,” I said, grinning. “The guy who didn’t even want me to buy him a drink last week is now the one inviting me over.”

“Shut up,” he said, but I could see the hint of a smile on his lips. “I have the gin. I need to use it up.”

“Yes, Emmett, I’d love to come over to your place. Thank you so much for asking.”

He laughed. “Okay, great. Maybe I’ll get Patrick from work to call me in a few hours, and then I’ll kick you out, how’s that sound?”

His face was light and mirthful, but his words cut right to the core. I swallowed, looking to the ground. “Emmett, I’m so sorry that I acted that way toward you,” I said. “I feel awful about it.”

“Hey,” he said, putting a hand underneath my chin, drawing my face up to look into my eyes. “I was completely joking. I’m over it, Ryan.”

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek.

“…But clearly you aren’t,” he said. “Fuck.” He slid his hand away from under my face, and I missed his touch right away. “I… I want to hang out with you, Ryan. I enjoy being around you, and that’s more than I can say for any other one-night stand I’ve ever had.”

I puffed out a little laugh. “So you’re saying out of all your meaningless one-night stand, I’m your favorite?” I asked.

“Top five, at least,” Emmett said before his lips broke into a wide smile. “You’re awesome. I like you enough that I’d even listen to more jazz for you,” he said, screwing up his face, turning to the side, and pretending to puke.

“I’m going to get you to enjoy jazz,” I said. “I’ve decided on it.”

“Christ, then I really am going to need to drink a lot tonight,” he said. He turned back toward me, nodding toward the downward sloping hill that led away from the Promenade. “To the mini-mart?” he asked.

“To the mini-mart,” I said.

* * *

I’d never been there before, but when we arrived, I knew I would be coming to the mini-mart a whole lot more. As we were walking in, the owner of the shop, Betty, introduced herself to me as she was going home for the evening.

“Emmett, how the hell are ya,” she said as she was pulling on her jacket behind the long front counter of the store. “Who’s your friend tonight?” she asked, pushing back a lock of her grey hair and looking over at me. I wondered if Betty often saw Emmett coming in with guys, or with other hookups. I knew I was just another in a long line of men and women before me.

“This is Ryan,” he said gesturing at me, “Ryan, this is Betty. She knows probably way too much about me. She watches over everyone in Rose Falls.”

Betty gave a firm nod. “Indeed I do. Nice to meet you, Ryan. What do you two need this evening? Snacks? Lightbulbs? Beer? Condoms? We’ve got you covered. I’m on my way out, but my grandson Andy is poking around in the back somewhere. He can help you out tonight.”

“We’re just grabbing some tonic and limes,” Emmett said.

“Well, I know you know where those are, Emmett. Have a good night,” she said as she pulled on her hat, heading out of the store.

Her grandson emerged from the back of the store a moment later, looking exhausted and carrying a case of gum toward the front.

“Hey, Andy,” Emmett said as he examined limes, holding them up and feeling their weight in his hands.

Andy dropped the heavy case of gum at the front, letting out a long sigh and then standing up straight. He was young and lanky, probably in his early twenties, and looked as tired as any convenience store worker would be on a Saturday. He had a pair of headphones cradled around his neck and tattoos on his forearm and looked effortlessly cool in a haphazard sort of way.

“Hey, Emmett. Hey, new guy. What was your name?”

“Ryan,” I said with a smile. “You can just call me New Guy if you want, though.”

“Of course not,” Andy said, waving a hand through the air. “You share the same name with Ryan Gosling, and he is my one true love, he just doesn’t know it yet. I’ll call you Ryan, at least until I marry him, and things get confusing.”

I laughed and Emmett snorted. He brought up tonic, limes, and two boxes of candy to the front of the store, dropping them on the counter. “You’re going to have to fight me for Ryan Gosling if he ever comes to Rose Falls—you do know that, Andy.”

Andy started ringing up the items, his fingers dancing fast over the register. I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and plopped it down on the counter, holding out a hand when Emmett tried to protest.

“Hey,” I said, “I was the one who was supposed to buy you a drink tonight.”

Emmett shrugged, relenting. “Fair enough.”

Andy bagged everything for us and pushed the bag over to us on the counter, cutting his eyes up at me. “If Emmett’s actually letting you buy him a drink, trust me, he’s practically in love with you.”

“Andy!” Emmett said, grabbing the bag. “What is wrong with you? I let people buy me drinks all the time.”

Andy shrugged. “Okay, fine. I don’t know what you do in the bars and clubs and all that shit,” he said, “I guess I’ll find out soon when I’m twenty-one. But you definitely never let anyone buy you stuff in the mini-mart.”

I glanced over at Emmett and saw that he was blushing a deep pink, and he nervously gathered the coins and bills on the counter and pressed them into my hand.

“Andy was dropped on his head as a baby,” Emmet mumbled to me. “Ignore his maniacal ramblings.”

I fought hard to suppress a grin as Emmett quickly beelined out of the store, and I gave one more smile and nod to Andy.

“Thanks,” I said, and he grunted lazily back at me, already at work unpacking the huge box of gum to restock the front display case.

“Emmett likes you,” Andy said from behind me as I was walking out, and I turned back to him. He was crouched on the floor, looking up at me plainly. “I know I’m young and cute, but I’m not an idiot. Be good to him,” he said, his eyes sincere. “He deserves it.”

I nodded. “I know he does,” I said.

I pushed the front door open and stepped outside, where Emmett was waiting with the bag in his hand. He’d pulled out one of the boxes of candy and was munching away, and he held out the box to me.

“Junior mints?” he asked.

“God, I haven’t let myself have those in years. Decades, maybe.”

“They’re kind of a ritual in my household. My brother and sister and I probably ate more Junior Mints than actual food.” He shook the box. “You sure you don’t want any?”

I held out my hand, and he poured out at least ten candies. “Whoa, whoa, just give me one,” I said, passing the rest into his hand, which he promptly tossed back into his mouth. He started walking down the street, and I followed.

“Okay, fine, give me more,” I said, the minty dark chocolate far better than I remembered.

“Hah,” Emmett said, swallowing. “I’ve taken you to the dark side.”

“Maybe this is why that good gin tastes weird to you,” I said in between popping candies in my mouth. “Do you always eat candy before drinking expensive liquors?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Emmett said.

We walked on, sometimes joking and sometimes lapsing into comfortable silences. The air was cool, but not frigid like it had been in past weeks, and almost all the snow had melted away, making the sidewalks seem wide and expansive in comparison.

I swore I even heard some birds chirping as we walked the tree-lined streets back to Emmett’s house, as they sang their last song of the night before tucking in.

* * *

Emmett lived on the third floor of an old house that had been converted into separate apartments. It was on a nice street, similar to all the other idyllic ones in Rose Falls, but the house was definitely the most modest one on the block. The rickety old front door swung shut behind us as we walked up the three flights of stairs, and Emmett pulled out his keys to open the door to his unit.

But when we walked in and he flipped on the lights, I felt like we’d stepped onto another planet entirely. His apartment was small, sure, but it was vibrant, colorful, and brimming with things that just screamed Emmett. As he took the bag to the kitchen, I looked around the living room, trying to soak up everything that was around me. The main thing that dominated the room was shelves—shelves full of books of all sizes, DVDs, music, little figurines. There were plants on the windowsill, succulents and cacti and little ferns and terrariums.

And the walls were covered in artwork. In theory, I would have thought a room like this would look too busy—there was so much art that you could hardly see the bare wall—but it was arranged with care and thought, and gave the space an air of coziness that I kind of couldn’t believe.

It felt homey, even though it was one of the smallest apartments I’d ever been in. I wanted to curl up on the red couch and watch movies as the candles on his tables burned in the background.

Emmett appeared again in the small archway between the kitchen and living room. “Shit. I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. He came over and picked up a stack of books from the coffee table, bringing them over to a shelf, only to lay them on top of another stack. “I, uh… didn’t expect to have anyone over.”

I followed him back into the kitchen, which was equally small but equally lived-in. He had overflowing spice racks, baskets with actual pieces of fruit in them, and pots and pans hanging from the ceiling above his sink.

And on one side of the kitchen, there was another shelf, full of liquor bottles.

“Whoa,” I said, “you have a fully stocked bar here.”

“It’s taken a long time to get it to a place where I have everything I’d want, but yeah… I think all the major hitters are accounted for in my collection.”

“Do you drink a lot?”

He shook his head. “You’d be surprised. I mostly just have wine. But when it comes to harder stuff, I never really have more than one drink when I’m at home.”

“Why not?”

He hitched up one shoulder in a shrug as he opened the bottle of tonic. “I dunno. Because drinking alone is sad, I guess.”

As he worked on making us tall glasses of gin and tonic, I considered what he’d said. I had an impression of Emmett as the kind of guy who would be constantly bringing people back to his apartment, partying here, drinking a ton. But he was right—most of the liquor bottles were nearly full, and a few near the bottom of the shelves even had some dust collecting on them.

How often did Emmett have people over? Was it rare? I realized that I was searching for signs that he liked me, signs that I wasn’t just another notch on his belt. I didn’t know why I cared so much.

Maybe it was because Emmett made me feel so good—more alive than I usually did, or at least more special. My life was normally such a routine, a well-tread path, and I never really branched out from work. Even on nights like tonight, when Stella had Anna and I was effectively a bachelor… normally I’d be at home, maybe drinking one glass of wine, and watching an old movie in my undecorated, un-lived-in house.

But in the span of time since arriving back at Emmett’s, he’d already turned on some music (quiet music that blended into the background, thank God), busied about making us drinks, and given me candy that I’d never normally allow myself to eat.

All of these things were small, and to anyone else they’d probably be unnoticeable. But for me, they meant the world.

Emmett pressed the tall, cool glass into my hands and clinked his against mine. “Cheers,” he said. We both took big sips.

“Oh my God,” I said, looking down at the glass. “That is really good.” I picked up the gin bottle sitting on the kitchen counter and examined it. “Do you mind if I…” I said, picking up a nearby shot glass.

“You want to try it on its own? That vile stuff? Be my guest,” Emmett said.

I tossed back a shot of the gin, letting the flavors settle.

“Holy shit,” Emmett said, studying my face. “You like it, don’t you?”

I smiled slowly. “Emmett… I fucking love it,” I said.

“Unbelievable. Well, I’m glad one of us does, even though this confirms that you are a total weirdo with taste buds that are fundamentally wrong.”

We crossed back into the living room, and I asked Emmett about the posters and flyers on the wall. It turned out that he had designed at least half of them.

“Emmett,” I said, looking at the fifth incredible poster, “you are ridiculously talented. I’m not being facetious when I say that if you actually did want to find work in graphic design, you absolutely could.”

He twisted up his face. “I told you. This is Rose Falls. There are more artists here than you can shake a stick at. I tried to apply for graphic design stuff for a long time, but after so many rejections, I kind of took a hint.”

I shook my head, looking around the room. “But this is basically a portfolio, right here,” I said. “And I’m sure there is more where this came from. Someone would be nuts not to hire you. Hell, forget about Rose Falls, you could freelance online. Do work for anyone in the world.”

Emmett gave me a skeptical look, and I decided to drop the subject. As I was looking around the room, my eyes fell on a particular shelf near the window. I walked over, felt a kick in my chest.

It was a shelf full of the same exact little black notebooks that Joseph always used to keep. It wasn’t exactly a strange thing—plenty of people used those notebooks, and I saw them out in the world all the time. But something about the arrangement of them, the sheer amount of them—there had to be at least twenty there, all dog-eared and with post-it notes peeking up out from random pages—it was exactly how Joseph’s notebooks always looked. Suddenly I felt like I was right back there, years ago, in the old apartment I’d shared with Joseph, smiling at his notebooks and wondering how many he’d have by the end of our lives together.

Of course, we hadn’t grown old together. We’d split up, and I hadn’t been able to have a truly serious relationship since him.

Seeing Emmett’s notebooks brought all of the feelings back, unwanted and unexpected, in one fell swoop. I took a long sip from the gin and tonic.

“Shit,” Emmett said, coming up behind me. I turned to him, and he had a huge smile on his face. “You already found the most embarrassing thing about me, didn’t you? Yes, I am a thirty-two-year-old man, and I still keep diaries. Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

I swallowed, nodding and keeping my eyes on the books, unable to think of a quippy response at that moment. My thoughts had become clouded with memory.

“Hey,” Emmett said, his voice softening. I jumped a little when he put a warm hand on my shoulder, but then it just felt nice, a solid weight on me, bringing me back down to the present. “Are you okay? You seem… much more disturbed by my diaries than I would expect.”

I cleared my throat, taking another sip of my drink. Emmett’s eyes were calm but concerned as he watched me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “So what’s up? What should we do now?”

Emmett shook his head slightly, dropping his hand from my shoulder. But his eyes stayed serious, fixed on me. “No, seriously,” he said. “Something really upset you. What’s going on?”

I bit my lip, letting out a slow breath. “Um,” I said finally, “It’s stupid, but…” I trailed off for a moment.

He shook his head. “Nothing’s stupid. You could tell me you’re thinking about… oh, I don’t know, butterfly mating habits, and I still wouldn’t think it was stupid.”

I smiled weakly. “No, that would actually be kind of cool.”

“I’ll refrain from calling you a nerd for saying that because secretly I totally agree.”

I scrubbed my hand over my face before speaking again. “I know this is silly, but these notebooks… they’re the same ones my ex used to use. Joseph. He kept them exactly like this, on a low shelf, and had just as many haphazard papers always sticking out of them.”

“Oh,” Emmett said, his eyebrows lifting in real surprise.

“I realize it’s not exactly the biggest coincidence in the world, but I… I just haven’t thought about him in a while,” I lied. The truth was that for years, I tried not to think about Joseph, but I’d recently heard he’d gotten married, and it had hit me hard.

I didn’t want him anymore. But I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d married this other guy, what had been wrong with me, how much could have changed in the past six years to make him have such a different life now.

It made the ugly parts of my mind tell me that clearly I wasn’t enough.

“Was this a guy in New York City?” Emmett asked. His voice was patient, like he didn’t mind at all that I was venting about my ex, like he had nowhere else he’d rather be. A surge of affection flooded through me.

I nodded. “I met Joseph in college, actually. I already told you about my first kiss, but Joseph was a couple years later. I always considered him my first real kiss. He was my first real everything. We met in senior year of college and lived together for eight years afterward.”

“Holy shit,” Emmett said. “That is… a long time.”

“I thought I was going to marry him,” I blurted out. I realized at once that I probably shouldn’t have been saying these things to Emmett, that it was certainly ruining the point of our “fun” night, that the last thing on Earth he probably wanted to hear about was my sad, lonely little story.

But the words just kept coming out, fueled by tipsiness as much as by my unchecked emotions. “I mean, we had talked about buying property together, getting a puppy together, joked about what we’d be like when we were old and grey,” I said. “But the minute I brought up serious talk about marriage, things slowly started to go downhill.”

“Ouch,” Emmett said, and when I glanced up to meet his eyes, I saw genuine sympathy. I don’t know what I’d been expecting—revulsion, maybe, because he was typically so eager to put down the idea of marriage? Instead, Emmett just looked like he felt bad for me, which still felt pathetic, but at least it wasn’t disgust.

“And, then, the straw that broke the camel’s back was that I wanted kids, and he didn’t,” I said.

“That old conundrum,” Emmett said with a nod.

“Things got too serious for him and he… he just left,” I said, shrugging.

“I’m sorry,” Emmett said, his voice so soft.

I shook my head. “It was a long time ago. He’s married now, actually.” I took another big swig of my drink.

Usually, when I thought too much about Joseph, the result was always bad—it led to a spiral of more anxiety and hopelessness that was completely unproductive.

But I was surprised to find that at that moment I felt lighter. Coming clean to Emmett about Joseph was like a weight off my back—he knew now, knew the real me, knew that I was damaged goods and probably too clingy.

It almost made me feel less pressure to make Emmett like me. Because surely this had been the final nail in the coffin—Emmett couldn’t possibly have any real interest in me now. If the baby, the workaholism, and the boring reality of my life hadn’t been enough, now he knew definitively that I was a hopeless romantic wreck.

I had nothing left to lose, and it made me feel free.

“I will say, though,” I said, “Joseph sure as hell never had a notebook with that on it.” I pointed to the one at the front of the line, which had a big black-and-white sticker emblazoned on the front. “What is that?”

Emmett bent down to pick it up, showing it to me. “That is the sticker for the band I was in during high school,” he said with a broad smile. “This was my first diary—er, notebook—I ever kept. Sophomore year of high school.”

He opened it, flipping through the pages and occasionally showing me little doodles and sketches he’d made. Some of them were impressive, especially for a fifteen-year-old. Emmett reached randomly into the array of notebooks and took out a different one, much better-kept, and stood next to me as he flipped through.

“God, you have such a unique style with your sketches,” I said, gazing at a little drawing of a cat he had done. “These are cool.”

“My brother Devin was always better at drawing and painting,” he said. “I just did it as a hobby.”

He flipped through more, and I caught brief glimpses of nude figures—men, women, both sketches and more detailed renderings. I didn’t dare ask if they were just from models or actual people he’d been with, though at the corner of my mind I was curious.

“Wow, that is beautiful,” I said as he stopped at one of the last sketches in the book. “Is that a view of Rose Falls?”

“Yeah,” he said brightly, nodding. “That’s the view from the roof here, actually. You wanna go see it?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You mean the roof of this house?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, lighting up. “I go up there all the time. The snow is all melted by now anyway.” My impulse was to politely say no, that I was fine inside, but he was already grabbing his coat and throwing it on.

“Why the hell not,” I said under my breath, grabbing my own jacket and following suit. He led me toward the door at the edge of the living room, and I was surprised to find that we ended up in his bedroom.

“Please do not look at how fucking messy my room is,” he said bashfully, quickly ushering me out onto the balcony.

“I’d actually been thinking how cozy it looks in here,” I said. It was decorated like the living room, but much less busy—there were still stacks of books both on the floor and on his bedside table, but the art on the walls was uniform and calming, and there were more lush green plants by the window.

“It’s a wreck,” he said. We stepped outside, and he shut the door behind us. The little wooden balcony could barely fit the two of us—it was more the suggestion of a balcony than anything really useful. But being huddled so close to Emmett out there was already making my blood run hotter—I’d wanted so badly to kiss him after we left the concert, and the urge was even stronger now.

“This is beautiful,” I said, gazing out at the scattered twinkling lights, the slope of the hills under the faint moonlight.

“Oh, this isn’t it,” he said, nodding over to a rickety wooden ladder. “We have to get on the roof.”

I ran my hand over the warped wood of the ladder. “Are you sure this is… safe?” I asked. I pushed some old leaves off one of the rungs, and they were slippery under my hand.

“Of course,” he said, already grabbing on and starting up the ladder. “I told you, I go up here all the time. Used to go up here multiple times a day.”

He climbed the ladder in no time flat and disappeared onto the roof. I started after him, my heart hammering in my chest. I wasn’t afraid of heights like some people were, and I was fine on roller coasters and in skyscrapers. But something about ladders had always gotten me. I always thought I was going to fall backwards off of them.

My footing was awkward as I ascended, but when my head peeked over the roof, I saw Emmett there, beaming down at me, encouraging me up.

“See,” he said as I clambered onto the roof. “Not so bad, huh?”

I’d practically started sweating from the adrenaline, but I nodded. I didn’t need to embarrass myself again tonight. The roof wasn’t wet at all like I’d expected, and it was nearly flat; I was surprised at how secure I actually felt once I was up there. I sat down next to him and turned back toward the view of the town.

And instantly, all of my low-level fear was erased. It was beautiful. For a full minute we sat there next to each other in a comfortable silence, as I took in the scene, Rose Falls spilling out below us, the land stretching out forever toward the horizon. The balcony view had been nice all on its own, but this view was utterly unencumbered, no railings or roof above us to obscure the view, almost like we were floating above the world, the only sounds being the faintest breeze in the tall trees and the occasional unhurried car on the street far below us.

It was cold out, but not biting, and I was close enough to Emmett that I could feel the heat of him at my side. I wished that I was holding him, that he would lie back against me, that he was mine.

“Thank you,” I said softly after a minute.

He just nodded. When I glanced over at him I could see it in his eyes too; he was at peace, up here, even when the rest of the world was chaotic.

“Usually can’t come up here in winter when it snows a lot,” he said, “so it’s really nice being able to again.”

“You said you used to come up here a lot?” I asked.

He nodded. “Back when I used to smoke I’d come up here if I could. I could lie back, look at the constellations, watch people walking down the street and having fights or making out or just walking their dogs. Basically just watched the world go by.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

“Yeah. Sometimes I miss having that built-in excuse to come up here even more often.”

“I’m glad you don’t smoke anymore, though,” I said. I turned to him, bringing my knees up to my chest and hugging them against me.

Emmett met my eyes, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, of course, you’re glad I don’t smoke. I’m willing to bet you never would have kissed me in the first place if I were a smoker.”

“Why do you think that?” I said, incredulous.

He gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. You strike me as the kind of guy who’d hate smoking.”

I grumbled. “Fine. You win,” I said. “You’re not wrong.”

He laughed softly. “I’m mostly just messing with you,” he said. “I’m glad I quit, too. I’d rather have clear lungs and empty hands than a dumb nicotine addiction, any day.”

I nodded. “Yeah, and it’s really not good for Anna to be around as she grows up,” I said.

Emmett’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and my face grew hotter and hotter in the silence that followed. It took me a second to realize the implications of the statement I’d just made—for fuck’s sake, I’d basically been implying that Emmett and I had a long future ahead of us, one where I wouldn’t want him smoking around my daughter. I swallowed, looking away from Emmett and back out toward the view, wishing I could slap myself.

Why did I want him so badly, when I knew there was no use? Why had I so quickly developed this intense affection for him?

It was like when I went on vacation, to some far-off beautiful island. After only a few days there, I would fall in love with the place and wonder how I could ever exist anywhere else. I sort of felt like that with Emmett: as soon as he’d become a part of my life, I could no longer imagine him not being there.

But I knew that telling him all this would only lead to disaster.

Emmett let out a breath as he lay back onto the roof, relaxing, moving out of my field of vision. I reached down and started running my fingers along my tie, looping it into a spiral, feeling the faint relief of the pattern against my fingertips.

I heard Emmett softly laughing behind me. I turned around, shifting my position to face him.

“Are you laughing?” I asked. I could see now the big smile on his face. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… you.”

“Me, what?”

“…Coming to that punk show with a tie on.”

“Oh,” I said, looking down at the silk, shining softly. “It’s a good tie. If punk rockers don’t appreciate it, that’s their problem.”

“Very true. Why do you even need to wear a tie, though? You don’t have to go into an office; there’s nobody you have to impress.”

“Actually, I had a Skype call with the VP of my department today,” I said. I thought back to my work call that I’d had to make earlier this morning, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.

“On a Saturday?” Emmett asked.

“Yup.”

“That’s dedication.”

I shrugged. “I know I’m uncool. I embrace it, though.”

I watched Emmett’s face for a few moments, then shifted my position again, lying back next to him, feeling the cold shingles of the roof pressing against the back of my head. If I’d felt like I was floating before, this was even better—the stars hung above us, nothing else in the field of view.

“You’re not,” he said, his voice low. I turned my head toward him, his face close to mine lying against the roof. I could smell the gin on his breath, and the faint clean laundry scent of his clothes. He was even more beautiful like this if that was possible; his features were drawn in the low moonlight, dark lashes framing his soft eyes.

“I’m not what?” I said, my voice coming out a little weak.

“You’re not uncool,” he said. “Pretty sure you’re probably cooler than most of the people who were in that club, tonight. You’re just… different.”

And then something magical happened—something so simple, but that I never could have expected. Something I wouldn’t have let myself imagine.

Emmett reached out, feeling for my hand in the low light, and laced his fingers through mine. His fingertips were chilly, but I could feel his smaller hand start to warm up in mine.

My heart soared. I wanted him so much.

And even though I knew it might lead to heartbreak, at that moment, I decided that it was worth it.