Extraits

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head. "Let's just go home. Forget that I-"

"Did you just ask me why we are not married?"

"No. Well, yes, but..."

"In response to me asking if we should get Thai tonight?"

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.