She reached up and grabbed the collar of his coat, pulling him down until his forehead touched hers. “You’re buying the croissants next time.”
Jeanine finally turned. Leo stood in the doorway of the balcony, his coat dripping onto her thrift-store rug, his dark curls plastered to his forehead. He was holding a brown paper bag and a single silver balloon that read 2024 in glittering letters. midnight kisses jeanine benedict
“Deal.”
The world exploded into light and sound around them, but all she felt was the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his arms wrapping around her waist, the steady beat of his heart against her chest. It tasted like champagne and rain and the faint salt of her own tears. It tasted like a beginning. She reached up and grabbed the collar of
“I’m serious.”
“I’m a bartender, Jeanine. I can pour drinks anywhere. They have bars in Seattle. They have rain, too—more than here, probably. And mountains. And your sister.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “I’m not asking you to build a life for me. I’m asking if I can build one with you.” He was holding a brown paper bag and
“It’s a good job,” she continued, the words rushing out now like water through a broken dam. “Better pay. Real research, not just paperwork. And I’d be closer to my sister, and the mountains, and—” She stopped. Breathed. “I’ve been here eight years, Leo. Eight years in that same cramped apartment, eating beignets and pretending I like humidity. I can’t—I can’t stay just because I’m scared to leave.”