And within the delightful, triumphant, radiant chaos of mission control, I turn to Ian, and he turns to me with the widest, most brilliant of smiles.
The following day, our kiss is on the front page of the New York Times.

I band my arms around Ian’s neck and pull his huge shoulders into my body, like he’s the sun of my very own star system.

Sadie clears her throat. “Hey, guys, it’s great that you’re having fun, but we should really get going if we want to make our flights—”
They groan in a chorus. Like ten-year-olds asked to clean their rooms.
“I just . . . can’t believe they actually like each other,” Mara says, befuddled.
Sadie nods. “I don’t know how I feel about this. Seems . . . dangerous?”
I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter.

I try to lift my head and look up at him, but he presses on it gently and keeps stroking my hair. “You really should rest.”
He’s right. We both should. So I push a leg between his, and he lets me. Like his body is a thing of mine. “I am sorry. About what I said to you back in Houston.”
“Shh.”
“And that I’ve put you in danger—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” He kisses my temple. It’s wet from the slide of my tears. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. You could be working with your team, or asleep in your own bed, but you’re here because of me, and—”
“Hannah, there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I laugh, watery. “Not even—not even literally anywhere else?”
I hear him chuckle just before I fall asleep.

He smiles, and the thought that I could have died—I could have died—without being smiled at like this, by this man, has my lips trembling. “I don’t mind carrying you.” A dimple appears. “Do try to contain your love for crevasses, please.”
I glare at him through the tears. As it turns out, it’s exactly what he wants from me.

“We need to be on our way before the storm gets worse,” Ian says. “Are you—”
Ian looks at me, and I don’t even try to hide my face. I’m well past that. When he comes closer, a dark frown on his face, I let him hold my eyes, lift my chin with his fingers, inspect my cheeks. His expression shifts from urgent, to worried, to understanding. I draw in a breath that turns into a gulp.
[…]
Then I’m just a fucking mess. Blubbering pitifully, like a child, and when a warm, heavy body wraps around me and grips me tightly, I offer no resistance.

“Hannah.”
Close. Is this really Ian Floyd? Sounding close?
Impossible. My brain has frozen into stupidity. It must really be all over for me. My time has come, the end is nigh, and—
“Hannah. I’m coming for you.”
My eyes spring open. I’m not dreaming anymore.

“I only knew you for twenty-four hours, but I’ve never missed anyone so much.”

His eyes are the exact color of the sky when the sun shines. And I always, always loved the sky.

“And I’ve been scared, scared like never before, that I’d hurt you.”
[…]
“That I’d left you in some—any kind of pain. That I couldn’t make amends. Which, let me tell you, is no fun when you know in your lizard brain that you’re about five minutes from falling in love with someone.”

“About three weeks ago I’m having my usual, fairly disgusting breakfast, and I meet this really beautiful, amazing woman. I blow off my morning meetings and ignore my phone—my team is this close to sending out a search party—because all I can think of is how fun it would be to sit with her on a park bench covered in bird shit and talk about . . . I don’t even know. It doesn’t even matter. That’s how good it is with her. And because it’s apparently my lucky day, I manage to convince her to come out to dinner with me, and she’s not only lovely and smart and funny, it also feels like the two of us have more things in common than I thought possible, and . . . well, it’s a first for me. I’m no relationship expert, but I recognize how rare this is. How utterly one of a kind. I want to take it slow because the idea of screwing this up terrifies me, but she asks to come over.”

“Uh, sure.”
“I don’t know if this is a date,” he says, serious, “but if it isn’t, will you go on one with me?”
I smile so wide, my cheeks nearly hurt.

I am catastrophically, ruinously in love with you.

“I can’t think when you’re around.” His voice is rough.

“Yeah. But I really don’t. It’s just . . .” He holds my eyes. His are a dark, beautiful brown. “I like you very much, Mara. I like talking to you. I like watching you do yoga. I like the way you always smell like sunscreen. I like how you manage to say pretty much whatever you want while still being unbelievably kind. I like being in this house with you, and everything we do in here.” His throat bobs. “I don’t think it’s a surprise that I really, really like the idea of fucking you.”

And when he spins me around the room, one single, perfect whirl of pure happiness, that’s when I realize it.
How incredibly, utterly gone for this man I am.
It’s been there for weeks. Months. Whispering in my ear, creeping at me, hitting me in the face like a train on an iron track. It has grown too formidable and luminous for me to ignore, but that’s okay.

“I hope so. If not, I’ll run to the store and get you a heater.”
“You would do that?”

“Okay. Who am I supposed to kill, and how do I do it?”
He smiles at me, and a million little sparks crackle down my spine. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He is now smiling, and there is something warm unfurling in my chest now. Which really shouldn’t be there, because . .

I thrust out my hand, and he takes it immediately, his own firm and warm and large around mine, and—it might be the first time we touch on purpose, as opposed to arms brushing while we’re working at the stove, or fingers grazing as he sorts out my mail. It feels . . . nice. And right. And natural. I like it, and I look up to Liam’s face to see whether he likes it, too, and . . . there are a thousand different expressions passing on his face. A million different emotions.

My voice trails off. Because Liam is reaching up to brush his fingers against my cheekbone, a faint smile on his lips. My brain short-circuits. What—? Did he—?

Liam’s face instantly hardens. His spoon sets in the bowl with a loud clink. “This is sexual harassment.”
“Oh, no.”
“At the very least, it’s highly inappropriate.”
“No, it’s not like that—”
“I can talk to him.”
I blink. “What?”
“What’s his last name?” Liam asks, like it’s a totally normal question. “I can talk to him. Explain that he has made you uncomfortable and he should stop—”

“Hannah.”
Close. Is this really Ian Floyd? Sounding close?
Impossible. My brain has frozen into stupidity. It must really be all over for me. My time has come, the end is nigh, and—
“Hannah. I’m coming for you.”
My eyes spring open. I’m not dreaming anymore.”

C’est lui que je voulais. Lui qui aurait dû être là.
Pas Duncan, pas athair, ni qui que ce soit d’autre.
« Mon » Caleb. Celui qui se meurt lorsqu’il me croit éteinte. Celui avec qui je lâche prise. Celui qui m’a donné assez de courage pour le braver. Assez de force pour affronter mon avenir encore flou, fondé sur les ruines d’un passé obscur.

The best kiss.
It has to do with how slow it starts. With the way Levi and I breathe against each other for a moment, just breathe and taste the air between us. It should feel ridiculous, but there’s something unique about how he looks at my mouth from lowered eyelashes. Wrapped around him like I am, I can feel his pounding heartbeat, the heat of his skin, and suddenly I’m not scared anymore. He wants this—he wants me. I know it in the liquid, messy warmth of my abdomen, in the red spreading over his cheekbones, in his breathing, even faster and louder than mine.
“Bee.”
The tension stretches so unbearably tight, we might as well be on different sides of the world. So I close the distance, and then it’s not slow anymore. It’s hard and fast and open-mouthed. Wet and pressing and half bites. It’s messy, the least smooth kiss of my life—but maybe it’s not

“Good point. But I need to do something.”
He smiles fondly. “Maybe you can keep jumping up and down?”
“I’m starting to get tired, actually.”
“Okay, then . . .” He shrugs, and before I know what’s going on I’m in his arms and he’s spinning me around, my legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on my thighs.
I laugh. I laugh like I’m happy. What a weekend. I’m a feather. I’m invincible. I’m doing science. I’m having fun. I’m building things, useful, important things. I’m facing demons from my past. I’m being whirled around when I’m too tired to do it myself. I’m bubbling, exhilarated, brave. I’m the most myself and not myself at all.