In the big bed, in the cozy apartment she’d slowly transformed into her own, she surrendered with a sigh that was part excitement, part relief. Something deep inside her was coming to life, something she’d thought was out of her reach. She was going to love someone at last.

His big, work-roughened hands were gentle, and he was generous, kissing and touching, looking at her, smiling when she gave a short, earnest gasp of pleasure, and then shattered. It was that quick, perhaps because it had been building forever. He gave a long, luxurious thrust and joined her, and they sank back to earth together, entwined, not speaking for long moments as their heartbeats settled and the world came back into focus.

She lit a candle, one of the scented ones they sold in the shop, the fragrance labeled “Old Library.” Then they smoked some weed from her small supply in the drawer of the nightstand, and she wished the feeling of bliss would last forever. “I dreamed of this,” she whispered, blurting out the admission on a wave of honesty before she could stifle herself. “But I never believed my own dream. I didn’t think it was possible. I thought it was … I don’t know, maybe like a story in a book somewhere, hidden within the pages.”

She lightly traced her finger over the tattoo on his upper arm. “A shamrock?”

He shrugged. “Cheesy, I know. Proof I was young once.” He tuned up her old guitar and played her a song—“What About Your Heart?”—and she melted. “I wrote that right after we met,” he said.

“What? No.”

“Yes. You were looking after everyone but yourself. I saw it every day. You kept putting yourself last on the list. Don’t do that, Natalie.”

“I just wanted to make a nice home for my grandfather.”

“You did a good job. I liked this place the minute I saw it,” Peach said. “The furniture, the girly smells. I got a boner every time I walked past this bed,” he told her.

“How romantic.”

“I’m not being romantic. I’m being real. This is not our first rodeo,” he said. “The first time I saw you, you were crying and I saw these sweet abs …” He traced them with his finger, light as a feather. “And I felt like a jerk because I didn’t know you but I still wanted to …” He bent his head and lightly brushed kisses across her skin until she gasped. He looked up at her. “The way I feel about you is …” He took hold of her wrists and pressed them down above her head, and he moved on top of her and they were at it again, more slowly this time, urgency giving way to tender exploration.

Endless minutes later, she felt a gentle bump, and the candle flame flickered wildly. She froze, looking up at Peach. He was frowning.

“Earthquake,” she whispered.