Page 83 of Gave Proof Through the Night

Outside my door, he kisses me goodnight, soft and lingering, one hand curved at my jaw like it’s found its favorite spot. I turn for my door and he pulls me back by the wrist for a second kiss. This one is longer. A goodbye kiss that neither one of us wants to end. Both of us are smiling into it by the end.

“Have breakfast with me,” he says, brushing his nose against mine.

I gasp, pretending to be scandalized. “Mister Precio!”

He flushes fast, stepping back. “No, I don’t mean. I’m not implying…”

“Relax.” I bite back a grin. “I’m kidding. Also, didn’t you just declare a moratorium on restaurants?”

“It’s a team breakfast. Just a buffet downstairs at the hotel. Brooke, our nutritionist, runs it like boot camp, but there’s a grab-and-go table too, for guys who’d rather eat on the bus. Half the guys’ women come.”

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

“No singing required.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then I’ll have breakfast sent up to my room instead.”

My eyebrows go up. “Your room?”

“Not like that.” He gets the words out fast, hands up. “It’s a suite. There’s a living room, a tiny office space, and a small dining table. I’ll keep the bedroom door shut the whole time.” He crosses his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

I tilt my head at him. “That’s only a few hours from now. Aren’t you bored of seeing me every single day?”

He doesn’t even pause.

“I’m addicted to you.”

18

JEREMIAH

Chapter playlist:

America — Simon & Garfunkel

Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon — Urge Overkill

Erica is barefoot, wearing my hotel robe over her dress, and it’s so big on her that she had to roll the sleeves twice so her hands could show at the cuffs. It was the second thing she did after she kissed me hello. She’d walked in, saw the robe draped over a chair, then kicked off her sandals and said something about luxurious, fluffy hotel robes.

She pulls the collar over her nose, and takes in a breath.

“It smells like you,” she says, delighted.

“That’s usually how laundry works.”

“No. I mean it smells like you. Not detergent. You.”

I don’t know what to do with that information except tuck it away and keep it forever.

And keep her, if I’m being honest with myself this early in the morning.

I let myself just watch her for a minute.

She’s lingering by the window in a patch of golden light. The glow of the morning sun spills across her cheekbone, her jaw, backlighting the flyaway strands of her hair with threads of yellow gold running through the brown. She tips her chin up into it without knowing she’s doing it, sun-drenched and lazy. She has no idea she’s the most beautiful thing in this entire city.

The whole suite has gone soft and quiet. Time slows until the moment is stretched. Hazy at the edges… soft in the middle. I don’t know how to hold onto it except by memorizing it while it’s happening, and some part of me is already grieving the second it ends.