I swallow my mouthful of wine and gesture vaguely at Rosalita’s face. “There’s something in your hair.”

Rosalita pats at her head, missing the feather by miles. “What? Where?”

“Here, let me.” I set the bottle down and roll onto my knees. The edges of the shingles are uneven, and they dig into my bones as I crawl toward her. I’m not quite as steady as I would like to be, considering we are on a roof and a fall would mean a good crippling at the very least. I brush the feather from her hair. “There. All gone.”

“Thank you,” Rosalita says.

Now that I’m kneeling before her, I am reminded of just how beautiful she is. My fingers travel through her hair, down and down and down, until they reach the smooth skin of her cheek.

No, I tell them. Stop.

They do not listen.

I lean in, so close our lips would brush if one of us were to speak.

Kiss her, my brain cajoles. You want to. You’ve always wanted to.

But then, she leans back.

“No.” Her voice is quiet but firm. Devoid of judgment, but unwavering.

I sit back on my heels, swaying a little from the wine and the sting of rejection and the well of sadness that’s been simmering in me all day. I am but a simple creature, and it’s more feeling than I’m used to experiencing all at once.

“I’m sorry.” It seems like the right thing to say.

Rosalita shakes her head, a sad smile touching the corners of her mouth.

A mouth that my mouth will never know.

“I’m flattered, Ana. Truly.”

I suspect this might be a lie, but she’s trying to be nice when I’ve been such a selfish ass, so I decide to allow it.

“But I know it isn’t me you want.”

The thought of flinging myself off the roof seems not quite so terrible in that moment.

My sitting back down is more of an artful collapse, but neither one of us comments on it. I grab the wine bottle and take a large swig from it.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rosalita merely pats my knee. “Of course not. You’re just sad and drunk on a rooftop, miles from home for no reason at all.”

I slump to the shingles, banging my head a little too hard against them. “I need a distraction. Tell me something good.”

“Like what?”

“Anything,” I say. “Make something up if you must.”