Page 26 of The Quiet After The Fall

“You can answer it,” she says, not looking at me.

“I know.” But I silence it again.

She shakes her head and makes a sound like a laugh but not her real laugh. The one that could wake my frozen limbs. Pull me back from the dead. No. This laugh is her disapproving of my bullshit. But it’s something other than silence so I’ll take it.

Three blocks later, she stops in front of a little restaurant—more like a pub, I think—studying the menu in the window.

A couple walks out, letting the scent of greasy bar food waft through the door. My stomach growls loud enough that I’d bet she could hear.

“When did you last eat?” I ask.

“Today.”

“What did you eat?”

She doesn’t answer, which is its own answer.

“Sawyer?”

“I’m not hungry, Knox.”

I let it go…for now, but there may be a food truck hot dog in my near future.

We keep moving and I fall back half a step again, letting her lead the way. From back here, all I can see is her ass in that skirt, and I’m not the only one. Some creep next to me is staring at her, so I quickly fill the space between us, blocking his view.

And God, I want to wrap my hands around her waist. Pull her against me. Skim my lips over the sensitive spots on her neck until her breath catches.

Her in that skirt could be used to get me to spill international secrets. The way the slit opens with every stride, a flash of her thigh catching the light from passing windows. She has no idea what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does and is enjoying herself.

I’m so fucked.

She stops at a crosswalk, waiting for the light, and I step up beside her, taking the time to study her. Noticing small changes since the last time I was able to get this close.

Her cheeks are pinker and her summer freckles are lining the bridge of her nose. She changed her nose ring out too. It’s not a hoop anymore, but a small diamond stud.

A cab leans on its horn somewhere behind us and Sawyer flinches, grabbing my hand.

“I’ve got you,” I say.

But I shouldn’t have opened my mouth, because she realizes what she’s done and drops my hand immediately.

The light changes and Sawyer steps off the curb. I follow her uptown, hands in my pockets to keep myself from reaching for her.

Once we get past some of the main tourist areas, the sidewalk traffic thins and I breathe easier. My mind wanders to the last time I was here. A simpler time when I came in to meet an old high school friend going to school here.

It was purely for me. For fun. No agenda. No stress.

Before my father destroyed my life and a roller coaster took away any ounce of fight I had left.

She ducks under the scaffolding on the next block, shoes thudding against the metal plates, and I watch her tilt her head back to look up at the building above us. I don’t know what she sees. I’m too busy looking at the curve of her neck and the way her cropped shirt rides up, showing her perfect smooth skin.

We round the corner onto Central Park West and she stops walking so abruptly, I almost slam into her. I follow her eyeline and there it is. The museum, lit up against the dark sky, the steps empty, the place locked up for the night.

She stands there, taking it in. It’s subtle but her expression softens. That neutral mask she’s been wearing all night slips and I know why.

She starts walking again toward the steps and I follow. There’s a pressure behind my eyes when I look up at the place. An ache that feels like gravity pushing down on me harder than normal.

We climb to the middle landing and she sits, smoothing her skirt over her knees as best she can, but that slit doesn’t cover much. I sit beside her, breathing her in. Trying to keep from pushing too hard, too soon.