Apparently it was her yes. Because in the next second his lips skimmed hers, and she didn’t want to pull away. She wanted to count the seconds of that first touch, how long her breath stayed balled up in her chest, determine the angle when he tilted his head and try to determine why it made the sensation that much more. She wanted to measure it all out and yet wasn’t sure if it was a second or a minute, whether she was tumbling or flying, leaning in or pulling away.

In. Definitely leaning in, because his arms slid around her. Hers slid around him. And it felt odd, because she’d never held a man like this. And yet it didn’t, because there was none of the unease she usually felt with a casual touch. Perhaps because it wasn’t casual. It was purposeful. Every contact—hand to back, arm to shoulder, lips to lips—meant something. And they all added up to one very clear conclusion.

Willa was right.

Blast. Now she pulled away, shaking her head as she backed toward the door. “No. I don’t want things to change. I like it how it is—how it was. Just . . . pretend that didn’t happen.”

He looked amused, drat it. “Impossible.”

“No it isn’t! We’ll just . . . erase it. Cancel it out with an opposite. Rebalance the equation.” She waved a hand, as if the past minutes were a chalkboard she could erase with the gesture.

And now he was smiling, while she gestured like an idiot. “I don’t want to cancel it out.”

Her hands were shaking again as she reached for the door latch. “Well, I do.”

“What are you afraid of, Margot?”

Change. Being alone. Losing him. It would hurt all the worse if she let herself give in to this. She shook her head and pulled open the door. “I’m just your friend. Your sister’s friend.”

“I love you.”

He said it so easily. Calmly. Confidently.

Her panic was in proportion—an exponential one. “No. You don’t. You can’t. I don’t. Just . . .” But she didn’t know what she meant for him to do. She just knew she couldn’t do this. Because she’d lost her father, she’d lost her home, she’d lost her country, she’d lost her mother. She couldn’t lose anything else, but it always happened. Inevitably. And she didn’t have positives enough to offset all those negatives anymore. She’d run out, run dry, run empty. Run away.

“Margot!”

She nearly tripped on the threshold, but running was her only option. So she’d take it.

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