Even though I know it’s not true, the thought takes its toll and by the next breath, I’m walking back to the freezer.

*                    *                    *

Okay, so I’m not drunk, but I’m sure as fuck not sober either.

I’ve been lying on my bed, pissed off and torn up for I don’t know how long.

This isn’t how I want to spend what little time I have left with Leila, but I don’t know if there’s another option. She’s closing me out.

I get it. Really, I do.

It’s easier to leave if things aren’t going so well, but that doesn’t mean this has to be the end of anything.

That’s when it hits me: I should probably be talking about this with her.

I get up from the bed and take a moment to find my balance. I may be a little more inebriated than I thought.

At least I’m nowhere near as drunk as I was last night.

I set the bottle which, up until this point, had been welded to my hand, on my dresser and I open the door to my room.

Guess who’s sitting on the couch, talking to Leila as she wipes tears from her eyes.

I’ll give you one hint: it’s not me.

“Hey, Mike,” I say. “Leila, are you all right?”

“Maybe I should give you two a few minutes to talk,” Mike says and gets up from the couch.

“Thanks, Mike,” I tell him. “I appreciate that.”

He nods and walks to the kitchen. He’s hardly giving us privacy, but now really isn’t the time for me to say anything about it.

“I know what we’re both doing,” I tell her. “We’re finding reasons to be mad because we’re afraid of losing each other.”

“It doesn’t seem like either one of us have had to look very hard,” she says, wiping her nose on her shirtsleeve.

I smile at her.

“I guess you’re right,” I say. “A lot is happening with both of us right now. Maybe this wasn’t the right time to start a relationship, but I don’t regret that we did.”

Her eyes are so wide as she looks up at me.

“I don’t regret it either,” she says. “But how are we supposed to keep going when we both know it’s all going to be over in a week?”

We keep going because we care about each other.

We’ll find a way to make it work.

We keep going because we make each other feel things we’ve never really felt.

“I don’t know.”

Of all the possible combinations of words that could have come out of my mouth, that was one of the worst.

“So what are we doing?” she asks, the tears again forming in her eyes.

“We’re getting to know each other,” I tell her. “That sort of thing takes time.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But that doesn’t solve anything. We don’t have time.”

“We have a little,” I tell her. “If you’re not sick of me by the time you move, we can have more—I know I would like that.”

“Why don’t you move with me?” she asks.

And there’s the possibility I didn’t want her to realize.

“Things are only just starting to turn around at l’Iris. Wilks is still finding himself as a chef. I can’t just up and leave Jim without anyone to help,” I tell her. “He gave me a chance and kept me on when anyone else would have just fired me on the spot. I can’t walk out on him.”

“Then you’ll commute,” she says. “I found the place I want to move to. It’s got two bedrooms, one-and-a-half baths. It’s in a really good neighborhood and the rent is a fraction of what it is here.”

“I don’t have a car,” I tell her.

“I don’t have a car either,” she says. “How else are we going to do it, though?”

“I have a car,” Mike says from the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Mike, but do you mind?” I ask.

He scoffs and shrugs and I would very much like to put my fist through that tissue paper skull of his.

It may sound really odd, given that Leila and I have been roommates for months now, but I don’t know if we’re really in the place, relationship wise, where we should be living together.

“Let’s take every day, one day at a time,” I tell Leila. “Let’s make the most of every moment while you’re here, and when you have to go—”

“That’s it?” she asks. “And when I have to go, that’s it?”

“That’s not what I said,” I tell her. “I don’t want there to ever be a ‘that’s it’ with us.”

“What then?” she asks. “If things go well you’ll move if they don’t you won’t?”

“I don’t know!”

The words come out before I give them any thought. Leila just sits there, startled by the outburst, hurt by the words.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell her. “I don’t want you to go.”

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me,” she says.

“So is this,” I respond. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for both of us.”

“Let’s take it day by day then,” she says. “We’ll see how things are going when it comes time for me to move.”

Contrary to all appearances, this is not what I want.

More than anything, I want to just pick up and follow her wherever she wants to go.

Maybe it’s ridiculous that I feel this strongly about a woman with whom I’ve only been in a relationship for a few days, but since I met her, we’ve gotten to know more about each other, and I sure as hell don’t want to miss out on learning everything there is.

That’s what I want, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.

I’m used to the city.

I’m not used to being in a relationship like this—one that lasts longer than just a few good lays.

No matter how much I want to pick up, let Wilks stand on his own two feet—something he’s going to have to learn to do anyway—and stay with Leila, the truth is that I’m scared.

I’m scared and I think she knows it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stars

Leila

The move is in three days.

I got the apartment I wanted and it’s ready for me to move in and make it my own.

Dane hasn’t said it yet, but I know he’s not going with me.

Rather than spend this last parcel of time together feeling hurt or awkward, though, I’ve decided to make the most out of what time we have left.

There is so much that we haven’t experienced together. We’ve never been on a real date.

I’ve come to realize that we simply don’t have enough to build a solid relationship. But hey, we may as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It’s just after dark. If there are any stars in the sky, the city lights have swallowed them whole. The night is cool, but not cold. Traffic crowds the streets below, but I got used to that constant rush of combustion a long time ago.

I’m sitting on the roof, staring up at the sky, trying my hardest to find any stars at all. After a few false alarms (airplanes,) I finally spot one standing there all alone, its light just barely piercing the city’s brightness.

Isn’t that the way it goes?

My phone rings and I answer it, my eyes still intent on the sky.

“Hello?”

“Come downstairs.”

It’s Dane.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Just come downstairs,” he says. “I’ve got a car waiting for you.”

“I’m not really dressed to go out,” I tell him, but he just chuckles.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s just going to be you and me.”

“All right.”

I’ve been waiting for a moment like this, but I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is excitement or anxiety. It’s probably a little bit of both.

I make my way downstairs, but not before stopping by the apartment to check my hair and makeup. For someone who’s given up on an actual love life, I look pretty darn good.

“Oh stop it,” I tell myself aloud. “Quit being a baby and just enjoy the night.”

When I come out of the building, I look for Dane, but don’t see him. There are cars parked out front, as always, but they’re all empty.

My phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“I’m just down the block,” Dane says. “Look to your right. Do you see me?”