Maddie danced beautifully, of course, and Ryann’s previous lessons kicked in with muscle memory, so she could keep up and occasionally flourish. The song shifted seamlessly into Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and she and Maddie stayed on the dance floor, clenched together and swaying now, not really dancing. She wanted to stay here, forever, in Maddie’s arms, and the idea sent a spike of terror through her heart. She was leaving tomorrow, and they’d likely never dance again. She squeezed her harder, pinching her eyes shut against the rising tears.

“Oh, Maddie,” she said, whispering into her chest.

“Hmm?”

“What are we going to do?”

Maddie stumbled slightly before finding her rhythm again. “Do? We’re not going to do anything. We’re going to have a perfectly lovely evening. The limo will take us to my place, and we’ll have an even better time when we’re alone.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, and when she moved back a little and looked up into Maddie’s eyes, they were twinkling merrily.

“And then?”

“And then is later. We don’t have to worry about that tonight. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and she didn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was one of those gray New York days that always brought Ryann down. Rain in the country could be pretty, relaxing, but in the city, it just made everything uglier, dirtier. Even here, several stories above the street, she could hear splashing water as the cars drove by, likely drenching any poor pedestrian stuck out in this downpour.

She stared out the rain-splashed window, her mind as dark and cloudy as the sky. She rarely let herself think about Maddie, which meant when she did something like this—staring out the window, sitting in an armchair at home—she was at constant war with her thoughts. Right now, she had her eyes trained on the sliver of Central Park she could see to the right. She still hadn’t been there in months. Was the nut stand open in this weather? Someday soon, on a day with actual sunshine, she would get out there again, buy her honey-roasted pecans, and sit somewhere green and quiet. She’d be alone, like she always was, but at least she’d have that quiet green.

Some part of her heard the door open behind her, but she didn’t turn that way, still immersed in that little glimmer of the park. The last time she’d stared outside like this, it had been snowy and white, and the loss of time was temporarily disorienting. How many weeks ago had that been? It had been before Maddie, anyway. Her life was divided now—before and after Maddie—and she wondered, without letting herself think about details, how long she would view time that way. The question was academic, anyway. It would always be after, now.