“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Lila asked in her diplomatic wedding planner’s tone. “I thought we had an appointment today, but if we need to reschedule—“

“No need,” Ali said. “I was just leaving. Good to see you, Kash.”

I couldn’t say the same, so I offered a nod and prayed she’d just go already.

With a final assessment of Lila—who endured it with the grace of a goddamn angel—Ali granted my wish.

For a moment, Lila and I stood in silence.

“You have lipstick on your cheek,” she noted clinically, but her own cheeks flushed, belying her calm exterior.

“Wish it was yours.” I stepped into her, snagged her hand. Pressed a kiss of my own to her rosy cheekbone, encouraged when she let me, though she cut a look to where my father tilled soil, his eyes on his hands with the casual solitude of someone who was blissfully alone.

“Come with me,” I whispered, tugging her toward the storage basement.

Down the steps we went, the sound of her heels echoing off the concrete. The moment we were free of them and nestled in the near darkness, I turned her, cupped her face, and descended for a kiss in a single motion. Surprise stiffened her lips, but in a heartbeat, they yielded, softened, opened to meld to mine. We were a knot of arms and legs and heavy breaths before either of us knew it, and for that brief stretch of time, nothing needed to be said or decided or discussed. It was just the simple truth of her and me.

But such moments weren’t meant to last, and when that one ended, all the things we hadn’t said slid between us once more.

“Lila, I—”

“Please, don’t explain,” she insisted. “We aren’t together. We’re not exclusive. You don’t owe me anything, not even her name.”

It was hurt that came first in a flash of pain, then a sinking sadness. “Maybe not,” I said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “but I’m gonna tell you all the same.” A flicker of a smile and a warming of her eyes told me all I needed to know. “That was Ali, a girl I used to date.”

“An ex-girlfriend?” She frowned, confused. “I didn’t know you had any of those.”

“I don’t. Not many at least. Ali always calls when she comes to town.”

She drew a slow, resolute breath that drew her straighter. “I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. She came to ask me to dinner, and I declined.”

Bravely, she said, “Kash, you don’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t think you’d ask me to. I declined because I’d rather be with you.”

“But … I don’t want to stop you from seeing who you want.”

It was a lie—I saw it as plainly as she’d offered it.