“I’m naked. No way can you keep that.”

“That was the idea,” he grumbled. He made a pouty face and she laughed. He was going to miss that laugh. Bright and full of fun.

“Take another.” She pulled the sheet over her breasts. They smiled up at the camera, her hair a golden halo spilling across the pillow, and he took the picture. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek and took another. That photo would have been his favorite, the way she was looking into the camera so that he could look back into her soul, but she took the photo, and the others, stashing them somewhere with her belongings, when he’d taken a shower before that night’s gig.

He thought about mentioning something, but he decided not to. For forty-eight hours he had the privilege of loving and making love to Joy. A far better keepsake than a photo of the woman he’d never see again the day after tomorrow.

Their worlds spun on different axes. But for the past nine days, his life had aligned with hers. That alone made him feel like the luckiest son of a bitch.

On their last morning in Chicago, his mood was somber. He didn’t talk much during breakfast, or on the drive to Cleveland, where he spent his last night with Joy, who’d been just as quiet all day. Once there and checked into the room, they didn’t talk at all, nor did they sleep. They touched, they kissed, and they made love.

Dylan held her close. He cherished her. He savored her. He wished he didn’t have to let her go. “Anything I can say to convince you to extend our road trip?” he dared asking.

She silenced him with a kiss and straddled him one last time. He let her ride out her goodbye. There weren’t any more words to say.

Dawn came like she always does, and he had a flight to catch. He drove them to New York and straight to JFK. No side trips.

Rip off the bandage, Joy had said that morning. She wanted to drive directly to the airport and quickly part ways or she’d lose it. As much as he hated to speed up their goodbye, he couldn’t agree more. They needed to get it over with and move on to the next phase of their lives.

He held her hand the entire way. When they arrived at the airport and he pulled up to the departure curb, the car in park and idling, he didn’t let go. The inevitability of their separation hung thick in the car. Joy was looking down at her lap. Her shoulders quaked. He wanted to see her smile one last time.

“It’s been a joy riding with you,” he said, trying for humor.