“I need to …” I said, trailing off as I fled indoors to the nearest bathroom. I shut myself inside and stared hard in the massive, sparkling mirror, wondering what the hell had overcome me. We’d been having a lovely, nearly enchanted evening, and then I had gone and done that. I had jumped him like some sort of sex-starved teenage boy, right after falling over my own feet, no less. It wasn’t my style at all.

Get a grip, Audrey, I commanded myself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR AUDREY

When I returned to the balcony, once again fully in possession of my cool, I discovered Max had cleared the dishes and relocated the candles from the table around the space. He had turned up the music that had been playing in the background during dinner, and I recognized the current song as “This Must Be the Place” by the Talking Heads. I smiled to myself. The song was a good omen; it had always been lucky for me. In fact, I had been listening to that song when I got the call from Ayala offering me the job. I hoped it portended good things for the rest of the evening.

“Hey,” I said, joining Max at the edge of the balcony.

“Hey,” he responded, handing me a freshly poured glass of wine.

As I sipped the wine and considered how to reenergize the lively conversation we’d been having before my graceless attempt at a kiss had destroyed the mood, I felt my phone buzz in my purse. Grateful for the distraction, I pulled it out and checked the notifications.

It was only Nick: Watch out for bags of zip ties and collections of sharp instruments.

As I read his message, my phone vibrated again, this time with Nick sending me one of my own Instagram posts for the Hirshhorn, a close-up of the final, bloody Rosalind diorama. I shuddered.

“Is everything okay?”

I glanced up at Max, who was looking at me with concern. I put my phone facedown on the balcony ledge and drove Nick—and Rosalind—from my mind.

“Better than okay,” I said. “That dinner was delicious, and this view is incredible. You know, it might be my New York bias showing, but I never thought of DC as a particularly attractive city. You’ve gone and proved me wrong.”

“It’s not as flashy as New York, that’s for sure. It has more of a quiet beauty, the kind that sneaks up on you. Someday you’ll find you’re in love with it without knowing what happened.”

“Maybe you could show me some of the best parts,” I suggested.

“I would be honored,” he said seriously.

Then, holding my gaze, he cupped my face in his warm hands and lowered his mouth over mine. The tenderness of the kiss, its sweetness, caught me off guard. It was so different from kissing Nick—Nick was a technically proficient kisser who left me panting, but he didn’t touch me like this. I never felt as though Nick needed me specifically to create a knock-your-socks-off kiss; all he needed was a willing mouth. Here, though, with Max, I knew that I was a part of things—my lips, tongue, desire all integral components in this gentle but irresistible kiss.