“Don’t do that. Don’t make me laugh when all I want to do is cry.” But she cracked a smile. Dylan would never forget her smile.

He cupped her cheek. “Don’t cry for me.”

Joy nodded, wiping her face. She sighed and looked at him like she was trying to memorize everything about him. Her eyes buzzed over his face and his did the same to hers. Every distinct line, every elegant curve, every shade of color in her hair, her eyes. He committed them to memory.

A sad smile expanded above her chin. “We don’t exchange last names.”

“What happens on the road stays on the road,” he said.

“If one of us wants to take a side trip—”

“—we both have to agree,” he finished with her.

They shared a smile and he felt a sharp tightness in his chest. This was going to be brutal. “Don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

Dylan opened his door. Joy did the same. He grabbed his gear and guitar from the back seat and met her at the curb. He put down his stuff and crushed her to him. She cried out. He kissed her and he tasted her tears. He’d always associate that taste with heart-wrenching goodbyes. Damn, this was harder than expected. Harder than singing in public.

“I will never, ever forget you, Joy,” he pledged. Reluctantly, he let her go. He picked up his stuff and looked at her. They watched each other for a long moment, and Dylan took in the sight of her. The low-waisted flared jeans. The fitted shirt with a rainbow pony decal. The pukka shells adorning her neck. She was wearing her hair long and straight down her back. A golden sheet of sunshine he’d wrapped around his fists more than once as he came inside her. She was beautiful to him. His Cali girl. His joy.

“Don’t say the word, Dylan,” she whispered when his eyes met hers for the last time. “Don’t say ‘goodbye.’”

“I won’t.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then abruptly turned around and strode toward the revolving door. He wouldn’t look back.

Don’t look back.

Don’t . . .

Look back.

Dylan stopped in his tracks.

No.

This was all wrong. This couldn’t be it. This shouldn’t be the end of them.

He swung around and jogged back to the car, dropping his gear on the sidewalk. “Joy!” He rushed to her.

She ran to him. “Dylan!”

He caught her up in his arms. “I can’t leave you believing this is it, that all I got with you was ten days. I need . . .”

Hope.

“. . . something.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, breathless.

“I want to make another deal.”

He grasped her face so that he could look directly in her eyes. He needed her to understand how serious he was about what he was about to say.