I take an almond, coated in pale blue sugar, and boldly put it in his mouth. I think about the sugar dissolving and about how I might, as well.

Reading my mind, he leans forward, transfers the now-naked almond to my tongue. I’m on fire.

The phone rings, and we pull apart as if a yellow cab just sped through the living room.

At first, I don’t move to get it. I mean, how can I?

But when Gabriel says, What if it’s your parents? I wander over to the phone in the living room in a daze, pick it up too late, and hear only the click of someone hanging up.

I glance at the clock, watch it tick away my time with Gabriel. We have another twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. It’s like the minutes are turning to liquid and seeping through the cracks in the floor into the Hendersons’ apartment downstairs.

When I head back to the kitchen, Gabriel is standing at the sink with his wet shirt in his hand. The muscles in his back handcuff my eyes and won’t let go.

I spilled some coffee on it, he explains, and turns back to the sink to rinse it out.

A subway rumbles by, and I’m glad it’s loud enough to cover up the sound of my jagged breathing.

I take a step forward, unsure what to do.

Gabriel glances over his shoulder and asks what I’m thinking, and I’m sure I turn bright red again because what I’m thinking is that I’m wondering what he sleeps in or out of. What he looks like at dawn when the sun wakes him up. What the stubble on his cheek would feel like against my neck.

I want to see him disarmed, unguarded.

Naked.

I’m not going to tell him that, so I shrug. But then he turns, leans over, runs a finger down the side of my face. I move in to kiss him, but he pulls back and whispers, I mean it. I want to know what you’re thinking. I want to know how it makes you feel when we’re together. How you feel when I do this, he leans over and blows on my neck.

My breath comes out uneven, my muscles taut as guitar strings.

What does it feel like? It feels like I’ve turned to smoke.

It feels like everything.

When I don’t answer—can’t answer—Gabriel snaps me with his shirt and walks to my room to get a new one from his bag.

I’ve screwed this up. I should have asked Connor… No, not Connor. I should have asked Becky more questions or James or bought some magazines. Or something. There is no way I’m going to be able to hide the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing.

When Gabriel comes back in a blue T-shirt and starts throwing food together, I’m too keyed up to eat.

Then he glances at the clock and asks to use the phone.

I’m puzzled until he says, I try to call Sophia to say good night if I’m not there to put her to bed. Ever since Papa died, she has nightmares.