Page 88 of Coming in Hot

“Very true.” I hold her tighter, knowing any second now we will reach the limit on a celebratory hug. “I’m at a loss for how to express my feelings—gratitude is the closest to what I’m experiencing. I’ve no context for this.”

She grabs a fistful of the back of my shirt and presses her forehead against my shoulder hard. Her breath catches, then releases in a stifled whimper.

I disengage to look at her, cupping her cheek in one palm. “Talia… what’s—”

Before I complete the question, she kisses me. I’m too shocked to respond for a moment, and she withdraws an inch, eyes troubled, before I pull her close again, plunging one hand into her hair, combing up from the nape of her neck and squeezing a handful of the warm silk.

I’m not sure if this is a last kiss or a first, but either way itmustbe something we both remember, something to last a lifetime. Three months of longing seem to pour out of us, disintegrating the wall between us. Our mouths are hot and demanding, mapping the landscape of each other, exploring every curve. She feeds on me as if famished, and when she pulls back to reconnect and we both close in too quickly, hitting our teeth, we smile against each other, comforted in the recognition of the hunger we share.

Our mouths soften with the reassurance that the kiss isn’t over. Here in the insulated hush of the car with rain drumming on the roof, our eager breath saying more than words ever could, we shape this moment so it feels both infinite and outside of time. There’s nothing beyond our pleasure in each other. No yesterday,no tomorrow—only our lips and tongues and roaming hands and the need to be here together, steeped in the beautiful ache of simple need.

When Natalia finally retreats, her cheeks stained and her lips swollen and nude with kisses, she peeks at my eyes and says, “We can’t really get into the back seat like we did in Barcelona. Not in a parking lot.”

I tuck a lock of her tousled hair behind her left ear. “Would you suggest it, if we had privacy?”

My question isn’t spurred by lust, but a need to know if this kiss means the same thing to her as it does to me. I feel like I’m staring at a door, unsure whether it leads to “the lady or the tiger,” as in the fairy tale. It’s either the portal out, or in.

Painful remorse comes to me as I remember how Natalia once said I felt like a locked door. The night she left me, I’d locked it quite literally. I want to dismantle every barrier that’s ever stood between us, tearing apart nails and hinges and mortar and lies and silence.

She sits back, smoothing her hair. “I probablywouldsuggest it, so I’m glad we can’t. It’d make everything more complicated.” She chews at her kiss-abraded lower lip, studying me. “Attraction can’t be what holds us together. And—I can’t stress this enough—neither can a baby. The idea of a baby ‘fixing everything’ is the basis for millions of unhappy childhoods, and relationships that should’ve laid down to die with dignity years earlier.”

I force myself to breathe out slowly, dropping my gaze. “I don’t agree with your estimation of our prospects. But I have to accept that the place where you are, emotionally, is the placeweare. My hopes don’t move the marker.”

She wrings the strap of her bag between nervous fingers. “Auntie Min’s best friend Naomi would say it’s probably a bad omen that a bunch of delays prevented you from getting here on time. Like… it means this wasn’t meant to be.”

I give a grim half-smile. “Does this vast and impartial universe care enough to overturn a cargo truck and slow me down so we might receive a message? Bad luck for that driver, having to become the instrument.”

Natalia chuckles, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess not. It’s silly, I know.”

I take her hand. We hold loosely, needing the connection but wary of being any closer.

“Elena is a big believer in signs as well. Quite superstitious. And while I may not share her exact feeling on the matter, I credit her with helping me to see something recently.”

“Yeah?” Natalia’s eyes seem to be searching for hope, but I’m not sure if I’m only seeing the reflection of my own.

“We were on the patio and a gull’s feather fell on the table in front of me. Elena said, ‘A sign of change to come.’ I reminded her I don’t believe in portents or dispatches from the Great Unknown. She called me ‘malakas’—a stupid person—and said, ‘It is a lonely man who won’t believe in signs. What benefit is it to choose silence?’ Considering it, I realized something can be a sign if you take it as such. Whether you think it came from elsewhere, or your own subconscious, the result is the same. So you should listen if it’s helpful.”

Natalia brushes her thumb back and forth across my knuckles. “What are we ‘hearing’ today?”

I squeeze her hand. “I suppose we each have to decide if mytardiness was merely circumstance, or if it feels relevant because in our hearts we know we oughtn’t be together.” I meet her eyes. “I can only speak for myself. I won’t trouble you with continued entreaties, but… if there’s any chance you still love me, please allow me to prove I deserve it.”

She frowns. “Klaus—”

“I don’t need a yes, kleine Hexe. Only the absence of a definitive no.”

A mobile phone chimes. Natalia digs in her handbag, naked lower lip trapped between her teeth, and withdraws the mobile. Her eyes go wide; then she gives a wry smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think my aunt had one of those find-your-teenager apps installed on my phone. But her built-in ‘location services’ are probably better than any technology.”

She shows me the screen.

Auntie Min:Invite him to dinner so we can all meet properly. Jace and Sherri will be here at 7. Pick up vanilla ice cream at the market on your way home.

“Who needs ‘the universe’ sending subtle messages if they have Minnie Evans givingunsubtle orders?” she says with a chuckle. “Ever had a Kentucky hot brown casserole?”

I follow her back to her small hometown. After we’ve exited the main highway and turned onto a long, picturesque two-lane road, I drink in the sights, conscious of how familiar this all is to Natalia. The memory comes back—the two of us inmyhometown, gazingat the house in which I grew up. Her hand on my leg, our fingers weaving together, the fear and certainty when I told her I loved her. Euphoria flooding me when she spoke those treasured words back.

No, not “loved” her…loveher. I still do, and the pain of it is like a bit of shrapnel from an old wound. Today, for the first time in months, I have hope. But hope can be a killing thing rather than a comfort.

We drive through a stretch of countryside lined on the right with walnut and willow trees. Opposite is a wide, fenced expanse that seems to have once been a pasture, overgrown with tufted grasses. A blue barn and white farmhouse are across the field.

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