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  Just leave the room.

  I didn’t. Like a fool, I didn’t.

  “You wanted something?” I asked, working to keep my voice free of bitterness. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what she would ask for. But perversely, I needed to hear her say it. This would be my escape hatch from hope. This would be all the proof I needed.

  “I did?” Her gaze was still on my mouth, and she’d leaned forward as I stepped away.

  I did not reach out to steady her this time. “You did. You said you wanted to ask for one more thing?”

  She blinked, her eyes completely losing focus for a second. She frowned her cute frown and my temper spiked. After tonight, I never wanted to see her again.

  “Oh, yes!” She tried to snap, failed, and waved an index finger through the air. “I remember.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m only asking you this because you’ve claimed it’s impossible for me to make you feel uncomfortable at present, and when I’m drunk, I’m selfish and have no filter.”

  “Mona, what is it?”

  “Can I listen to your heart?”

  I started, blinked, confused. “What?”

  “Can I listen to your heartbeat? Obviously, it’s fine to say no. It’s incredibly fine. In fact, I expect you to say no. But, since I’ve already confessed to plasma levels of being hot for you, and still in love with you, I figured I might as well make it a trifecta of selfishness and mortification—a trifecta squared? An exponential trifecta? A tripod of shame? I don’t know, fill in the blank—and just ask for what I really want.”

  What? “You want to . . . listen to my heartbeat? That’s what you want?”

  “I do.” She nodded, her eyes earnest and eager. “I want to lie next to you.” She redirected her focus to the left side of my chest, and she swallowed, gazing at the spot with naked longing. “I want to place my ear right there.” Mona lifted her hand and stopped just short of touching me, her breath coming faster, making her voice softer. “And I want to listen to your heart. I want it more than I want to breathe, if I’m being honest. Which I am being honest, as we’ve established.”

  I stared at her.

  I stared at her, and stared at her, and stared at her. I stared at her and I worked to keep my balance, because the floor and the earth moved beneath my feet. The cavern opened and stretched in front of me. I stared at her and I was afraid, because I knew.

  My whole life, from this point forward, I would be a fool for Mona DaVinci.

  13

  Atomic Physics

  *Abram*

  “Have you slept?”

  Startled, my head snapped up and my neck protested, stars flaring in my vision. I winced.

  “You haven’t slept.” Kaitlyn sounded concerned, and when she came into focus, she looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I said, my voice gravelly, and tested my neck. Slowly, I stretched it. Once I was sure it was fine, I stood from the desk, blinked at the room, at the sunlight filtering in through the windows, and I stretched my back.

  Kaitlyn wore a frown of intense concern and I realized at once what was bothering her. “I only had the one drink, okay? I didn’t get drunk.”

  My friend’s forehead cleared of concern, obviously she’d been thinking I was hungover. “Sorry. I don’t mean to hover. But when you left and didn’t say where you were going . . .”

  “No need to say sorry.” I twisted at the waist, waving away her apology. Kaitlyn had seen the tail end of my downward spiral. She’d been a major source of support for me, helping me climb out of the hole I’d dug for myself. She’d seen me drunk. And when I was drunk, I was disorderly. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Her attention moved between me and the open notebook on the desk. “It’s just past seven. Have you been up all night writing?”

  I nodded, yawning, abruptly feeling the lack of sleep. “I had no idea.”

  “What?”

  “That is was so late.”

  “You mean early.” She smiled, but then it vanished, and she leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m glad you’ve been writing.”

  “Me too.” I glanced at the lines I’d been working on for the last hour. Or maybe for the last several hours.

  “Abram,” she said softly, but there was a note of concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “About Mona.”

  Without looking up, I sighed, and then I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t know where to start.”

  I felt her eyes move over me before she asked, “Start with when you met her originally. Did Leo introduce you?”

  I continued shaking my head. “No. Leo didn’t—doesn’t—know.”

  How Leo would react to the news of Mona and me—our past or the potential for our future—was anyone’s guess. I’d seen him lose his shit with an acquaintance of ours who’d said that Lisa was “fucking hot.” But then I’d also witnessed yesterday how he’d worried about Charlie’s interest in Mona, like Charlie was the one who needed protecting.

  The sound of the door closing brought my eyes up and I watched Kaitlyn march over to one of the leather armchairs by the window. She motioned to the other. “Please. Sit.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at her. “Is this a therapy session?”

  “No,” she said, sitting. “It’s a I’m worried about my friend, Abram session.”

  “Really?” I shoved my hands in my pockets, taking my time, strolling to the chair across from her. “Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m writing again.”

  “When was the last time you wrote like this? Staying up all night?” she asked, challenge in her voice. “Was it, perhaps, the last time you saw Mona?”

  That earned her a frown. “How did you . . .”

  “You said to me once that your ex had messed with your head, made you think you were crazy. But you’d never been more inspired—or written so much in such a short time—than when you had been with her.”

  “It’s not what you think. Mona didn’t—” I huffed, pulling a hand through my hair and scratching the crown of my head. I’d taken it out of its binding at some point last night and now it was driving me crazy, getting in my face. “She didn’t do anything—”

  “You forget, I was there.”

  That stopped me. We stared at each other.

  Her gray eyes looked silver this morning, in the sunlight reflecting off the snow. “I was there to see the after, the crater left by meteor-Mona, if you will.”

  My jaw working, I slid my teeth to the side and finally sat in the chair across from her. “You seemed to like her just fine last night.”

  “Oh, I do like her. I still like her, as an impressive person, as a genius astrophysicist, a public figure. But is she good enough for my friend?” Kaitlyn shrugged.

  I’d never spoken to anyone about Mona other than Kaitlyn. Even then, I’d spoken in generalities. I’d never given her a name, or told our story.

  “Fine. I’ll allow it. What do you want to say? You think I should steer clear?”

  She shrugged again, this time with her shoulders, her face, and her hands folded in her lap. “I honestly have no idea. If you want my advice, you’re going to have to tell me the whole story, not just vague bits and pieces.”

  I chuckled. “You know, just now, you sounded like how Senator Parker does when she’s confronting a bullshitter.”

  “Well, she is my mom. And you are a bullshitter. Therefore . . .” Again, she shrugged with her shoulders, her face, and her hands, but she also grinned. “Come on, Abram. Talk about it. Talk about Mona. Tell me the whole story.”

  I hesitated, glancing over her head, stalling. Being the object of an elaborate prank, or hoax, during which I’d made a total fool of myself, wasn’t something I wanted to advertise. That said, I knew Kaitlyn’s concern for me came from a genuine place, which was probably why it was so disarming.

  “For the record, I think she’s completely crazy.”

&n
bsp; My eyes cut back to her and I frowned. “She’s not—”

  “Crazy about you. Crazy weird. All the good crazies.”

  “You think she’s crazy about me?”

  “Yes. After you burned whatever was in that envelope last night and left, I sat with her and Allyn. She kept looking for you. And during dinner, when I walked over, I think she’d assumed you and I were together and engaged.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. The woman was practically seething with jealousy.” Kaitlyn widened her eyes, as though still struck by the memory. “I thought she might do me harm.”

  I was tired, so it didn’t occur to me to hide my smile.

  “Really, Abram? That pleases you?”

  Now I tried to hide my smile. “No. . .”

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  “Okay, yes. Obviously not the part about her wanting to harm you. But, the fact that she was jealous? I’m not going to lie, I like that.”

  Kaitlyn tried to look disgusted, but the effect was ruined by the amused curve of her mouth. “It doesn’t matter what I think of Mona. What do you think of Mona?”

  Studying my friend, I realized what she said wasn’t precisely true. “It does matter what you think of Mona, actually.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I trust you. I trust your judgment.”

  Her lips twisted to the side as she studied me in return. “I’ll love her just as long as she treats you like the prince you are and recognizes that your heart requires no tenderizing. It’s tender enough.”

  Shaking my head at my friend, I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me. You write poetry for barnacle’s sake. You can’t tell me you’re not tender. You’re like veal, or foie gras, but without the sketchy ethics issues.” She leaned forward. “What’s the deal? How did you two meet? How did this thing start between you?”

  I gathered a deep breath, debating where to start. “It’s a convoluted story, and long.”

  She grinned. “My favorite kind.”

  I knew this already, but Kaitlyn Parker was a great listener. She’d asked a few questions when she needed clarification, but otherwise just listened, her features showing only interest.

  However, I’d underestimated how much her excellent listening skills would compel me to reveal, which turned out to be everything. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. Whatever it was, I held nothing back. Once I started, I couldn’t stop.

  “Wait. What?” Kaitlyn’s forehead wrinkled and she gave her head a subtle shake, like she was certain she’d heard me wrong. “She wanted to listen to your heartbeat?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze thoughtful, she shifted her eyes to some spot over my shoulder. “That was—is—not what I expected her to ask for.”

  “Me neither.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

  My friend’s attention returned to me, sharpened, and she nudged my foot with hers. “What happened next?”

  I sighed. “I left.”

  Kaitlyn stared at me, waiting.

  I gave her a tight smile.

  “You left.”

  “Yes.”

  “Without a word?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gray eyes moved between mine, searching. “And then you wrote poetry all night.”

  “Yes.” I studied my left hand, flexing it.

  “And now here we are.”

  “Yep.”

  She nudged my foot again, more of a kick this time. “What’s the plan?”

  I exhaled a light laugh, my face falling to my hands. “You know I’m not big on plans. I have no idea.”

  We were quiet for a minute, separating to steep in our own thoughts. Except, I had no thoughts left. They’d all been transcribed to the pages of the notebook still laying on the desk behind me.

  But I was tired.

  “You want advice?” she asked, interrupting the silence.

  I nodded, rubbing my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you my advice. But first, I need to . . .”

  I peeked at her from between my fingers. Her eyes were on me and felt sharp, intent.

  “What? What is it?” I let my hands drop and leaned back in the chair.

  She inhaled a deep breath, giving me the sense she was preparing herself for an unpleasant task. “But first, I need to provide content to my advice.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “You told me once that, before your ex, you used to write lyrics, poetry all the time. It was a compulsion for you, yes?” Her words were blunt, direct, and I expected no less.

  I nodded, setting my elbow on the arm of the chair and placing my thumb under my chin, my fingers along the side of my face.

  “But then, you broke up.”

  “As I explained, we didn’t break up, and I shouldn’t have called her my ex. I didn’t have another word, a better word for what—it wasn’t—we weren’t—”

  “Whatever. You obviously thought of her that way at the time, clearly. The issue is the writing. Before her, you wrote. With her, you wrote lyrics that eventually became four hit singles and an album that is on its way to triple platinum. After her, you didn’t write. Not at all.”

  She paused here, as though to let her words sink in, and then she added, “Yes, you revised what you’d already written. You also got yourself arrested a few times, before we met, and made some questionable life choices. As time heals all wounds, those days post meteor-Mona are behind you. But now—” Kaitlyn gestured to the notebook on the desk, punctuating the movement with a truncated head nod. “You’re writing again.”

  “Yes.” I was too tired to figure out where she was going with this.

  “That’s great. I know you missed it. I know it’s been a struggle. And I hope all these new poems become number one hits, or I hope they never get turned into songs at all. Whatever you want, whatever makes you happy. But . . .” She trailed off again.

  Her gaze seemed to waver, grow uncertain, like she already regretted the next words out of her mouth.

  “What? Just say it.”

  “But what happens when this week ends?”

  Gnawing my bottom lip, I met my friend’s somber stare, her words echoing in the room, in my head, and in my heart. What happens when this week ends?

  I was no longer looking at Kaitlyn. I was looking beyond her, into the future, something I rarely—if ever—did.

  “Abram,” she started gently, “it’s Tuesday. We’re leaving early Thursday.”

  Thursday.

  Shit. I broke into a cold sweat.

  It’s too soon. We need more time.

  A thought occurred to me. “If the snow lets us.” I brought her back into focus. “We might be trapped here for several more days.”

  “Look outside.” Kaitlyn shook her head, her gaze full of sympathy. “The sun is shining. Check the forecast. No snow for the next four days. If Melvin can plow the mountain road, Martin and the rest of the furloughed significant others trapped in Aspen will probably arrive today. We’re leaving Thursday, at o’dark thirty. I think the plane leaves at six. You have to be in Seattle for Friday’s concert. You and the band have been practicing for months, you’re at the top of your game, the show is sold out.”

  I made no sign of agreement, even though she was telling me things I already knew to be true. Also true, Mona had finally been honest and I couldn’t leave. Not now. Not yet.

  She sighed. It was also full of sympathy. “Now that I’ve provided context, do you still want my advice?”

  Staring at her, undecided, I continued gnawing on my lip.

  “Abram?”

  “If you’re going to tell me to let her go, or that it’s impossible, or that the timing makes it impossible, then no. I don’t want your advice.”

  Her lips curved and her eyes warmed from stark to compassionate. “That’s not my advice.”

  “Fine.” My knee started to bounce. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I think . . .
” Kaitlyn sucked in another deep breath, held it.

  I wished she’d stop trailing off her sentences. “Yes?”

  “I think you should kiss her.”

  I blinked, confused, and waited for my friend to continue. When she didn’t, I felt my face morph into a scowl. “That’s it? That’s your advice?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s the plan?”

  “Yep. I think that’s the plan.”

  I rubbed my eyes tiredly. “I stayed up another hour, telling you everything, spilling my guts, for you to tell me to do something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about in over two years?”

  “Exactly.”

  Laughing weakly, I shook my head. “What? Why exactly?”

  “My God, man. Kiss the woman. Kiss her senseless. Kiss her and mean it.” She waited, looking at me like she expected me to have an ah-ha moment. When I didn’t, she made a short sound of exasperation, adding, “You haven’t kissed her and it’s been over two years. Make a plan to kiss her, and then do it.”

  Maybe I was missing the obvious here, maybe I was too tired to be having this conversation. Whatever. I was so tired, my eyelids felt like paper.

  “Never mind.” God, I was tired. “I just want to sleep.”

  “Yes. You sleep. And then, you wake up, you find Mona, and you kiss her.”

  “Sure.” I stood, swayed, and then stumbled to the bed.

  “I’m serious, Abram. Follow the plan.” Kaitlyn bumped me out of the way with her hip, pulling down my covers.

  “I don’t understand you, Kaitlyn. You’re nuts, and your plan makes no sense.”

  “Flatterer. Here, let me tuck you in.”

  I practically fell into the bed. “I can tuck myself in.”

  “Do you need any warm milk? Should I leave a night-light on?” she fussed, sounding alarmingly like my mother.

  “Go away.”

  “Fine. I will. Do you mind if I take your notebook? Check out the new lyrics?”

  I hesitated.

  “You know what? Never mind.” Kaitlyn held up her hands, palms out. “I’ll look later. But in the meantime, kiss her. Kiss the hell out of her. And then we’ll move on to the next phase of the plan.”