My eyes map the soft lines of his face and I nod. “Yes.”
“When?” he asks without hesitation, and I let out a breathless laugh because even anxious, he’s adorable.
“Whenever you want.”
“Tomorrow night,” he suggests right away, as if he can’t wait a minute longer. I nod again, my head finding his chest once more. “Tomorrow,” he breathes into my ear, and my toes curl inside my sneakers.
I didn’t want to sleep tonight anyway.
TOMORROW.
A concept I never gave a shit about until I met Ember. Now I want to fill all my tomorrows with her, and the spaces in between too.
My mother’s stone sits heavy in my hand, the weight of missing her bears down on me. Still, I’m uplifted. Maybe it’s knowing I’m going to see Ember tonight. Or maybe it’s because I know how much my mother would have loved her, evidenced by that one day they met. I picture them sitting down over coffee, talking about art, laughing together. The thought brings a smile to my face and settles me somehow. It dawns on me how Ember is like the river—how she calms me and brings me a sense of peace. One I haven’t had for quite some time.
The stone finds its way to the familiar spot at the bottom of my pocket. I grab my wallet off the dresser and tuck it inside the lining of my leather jacket. As I run a hand through my hair, I take one last glance in the mirror, unable to recognize the guy staring back at me. But for once, I actually think that’s a good thing.
Chris pokes his head in. “Where are you t-taking Ember tonight?”
“Not sure, still. I was thinking about either The Moth StorySLAM or the Village Vanguard.” Sweat gathers under the neck of my shirt and I look over at Chris. “I’m fucking nervous.”
“Why?”
I shrug, working my jaw back and forth. “I’ve never cared about another girl the way I care about her. It’s pretty fucking scary, actually.”
“I imagine love is.” Chris grips the doorframe, eyes full of intent. “I d-don’t know. She seems like she feels the same. I saw the way she was looking at you last night. Speaking of which,” he smirks, “that sister of hers is a real character. Don’t you think?”
I’m too focused on the first thing he said. My brain taking more time than usual to process. “What? Oh yeah, she’s a character all right. She might be available too.”
“Anyway.” He taps a finger against the wood. “I hope it goes the way you want it to. You d-deserve it.”
“So do you.” I snag my keys from the bedside table then walk over to him. We’ve known each other long enough that I know what’s coming next.
His voice lowers, eyes avoiding my stare. “Deserving it and being able to g-get it are two different things.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, and his head lifts. “Stop using your speech impediment as a reason to bail out of life.” He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. “Because I know all about that, remember? So you stutter, big fucking deal. You had years of speech therapy and it’s hardly even noticeable anymore. Plus, it’s not who you are. This conversation is getting old and you better get your shit together and ask out that cute chick from the diner who likes you,” I grin, “or else I’ll do it for you.”
His eyes narrow into fine slits and he lets out an annoyed growl. “You w-wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.” I hike up the collar of my jacket. “On that note, I’m outta here.” I brush past him and he chuckles.
“Good luck.”
THE ELEVATOR RIDE up to Ember’s apartment takes too fucking long. I tap my foot against the floor, checking my appearance on the mirrored wall for the tenth time. The numbers ding by at a slow crawl and I tell them to hurry the fuck up under my breath. Even twenty-four hours is too long to be away from her now. Eventually, the doors open and I dart out of the car, scanning the hallway for apartment 88B.
As the number comes into view, my steps falter. I give myself a minute, rolling my shoulders and craning my neck from side to side. Then I take those last few strides and knock on the door—and wait. After too much time and when I’m beginning to think maybe she changed her mind, the door opens—and my jaw hits the ground.
My gaze sweeps over her, a slow drag starting at knee-high black boots and leading to jeans in the same shade, up to a green top cut low to the dip of her breasts. Dark silky hair spills in loose waves over smooth, creamy shoulders. Her beautiful face—free of makeup except for a little sparkle on her eyes, lips painted in a soft red gloss.
I brace my arm against the doorframe. “Wow. You look… wow.”
Shiny lips that make me want to be covered in gloss tilt at the corners as she surveys me from head to toe. My standard jeans and black shirt are not that impressive, but she seems to think differently. “You look wow, too.” She opens the door wider. “Come in.”