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  The image of him from yesterday, climbing out of the cockpit and taking his helmet off after handling that F1 race car like he’d been born with a steering wheel in his hand, pops into my head and my thighs impulsively clench together. Holy rings of Saturn. Even though he was a sweaty mess, it was the sexiest I’ve seen him, and considering I’ve been treated to the sight of his naked abs a few times already, that’s pretty much impossible. The way he exuded command and control over the powerful deathtrap-on-wheels then stalked toward me like the badass he is… yeah, I had to chant “Unavailable, unavailable, unavailable,” over and over in my head to keep me from flinging myself at him.

  “You do realize I’m the driver, right? And if my memory serves me correctly, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of keeping you safe and sound so far on this trip, especially considering how we started.” He glances over at me, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And to add to that, I think you’re having a much better time than you thought you would. Dare I say, despite your claim that you don’t ‘do people,’ you might even like getting to know one of your subjects. Namely, me.”

  I turn to watch the groves of olive trees lining the Italian countryside whiz by out the window, hiding my grin. He’s right. We’re six days and three countries into this journey, and he’s done nothing but take care of everything, including me. From insisting I sleep in the bed while he took the couch in Barcelona, to always letting me choose where we go sightseeing and the restaurants we eat at, to cheering me up the minute he notices my mood turning gloomy, Tavian West is everything I could ask for in my first real adult friend… and more. I can’t deny it any longer. I’ve got a full-blown crush on the guy.

  One that will stay my little secret.

  “You’re all right,” I deadpan, trying hard to keep my face straight. Even though I’m not facing him, I see him staring at my reflection in the window.

  “All right, my ass!” He grabs hold of my thigh, a few inches above my knee, and squeezes with moderate force, enough to get me to swing my head around and yelp with surprise.

  Exactly the reaction he’s searching for.

  I jerk my leg, trying to break free, but he doesn’t let go. “Tavian, stop!” I half laugh, half yell. “Pay attention to the road!”

  “Admit you like me and I’ll let go.”

  “Let go now!” I giggle helplessly, flailing around in the seat.

  His fingers release my leg for a split second, tricking me into thinking I’ve won, only to regrip tighter and higher, up near the seam of my black shorts. If his hand were to slip a few inches… “Tell me, Lyra. Tell me what I want to hear,” he orders, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  I try—and fail miserably—to escape him, as tears of laughter roll down my cheeks. “Okay, okay,” I choke out, holding my hands up in surrender. “You’re more than all right. I like you… a tiny bit.” I hold up my fingers an inch apart to demonstrate.

  If he only knew I dream about him at night, snuggled up in the T-shirt I still haven’t given back, clutching one of the spare pillows between my thighs.

  As promised, he lets me go, but not without a smug smirk firmly in place. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  I grumble an incoherent answer that sounds a lot like “whatever,” and he throws his head back, howling with amusement. Warmth bubbles up inside me, his delight infectious.

  “You need to learn I’m right over ninety-eight percent of the time. I’ve got statistics to prove it.” He snickers at his own brainy joke about his degree. “And for that official record you keep, I like you, too, buttercup.”

  The rest of the drive is enjoyable but rather uneventful. A couple hours later, we eat the best bread known to man—focaccia al formaggio—with our lunch in Genoa, and then stop a few times so I can photograph the charming villages we pass through. During the long stretches of road in between, I play DJ, mixing music from both of our phones—discovering he wasn’t lying when he said he loved Johnny Cash—to keep us entertained while we talk casually. We mostly discuss our favorite books and movies, and debate who the better director is: Kubrick, Scorsese, or Tarantino. Tavian, the old soul, argues for Kubrick, but my vote still stays with Scorsese, even though Pulp Fiction is my number one movie of all time.

  The closer to Florence we get, however, the more withdrawn I become, the realization of what I plan to do there sinking in deeper than I’ve allowed before. Mindlessly, I shift one of my feet closer to my backpack on the floorboard and rest the toe of my sandal against where the wooden box is situated inside the bag.

  I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t want to say goodbye.

  “You got quiet on me. Falling asleep?” Tavian nudges my knee with his hand, pulling me from my subdued state.

  “No, just lost in thought,” I reply honestly.

  “Doesn’t look like happy thoughts, so I’m gonna tell you about your surprise now,” he announces matter-of-factly.

  “Surprise?” I perk up, head cocked to the side. “What surprise?”

  He clears his throat, a rare moment of uncertainty flashing in his eyes. “When you said you wanted to stay close to the observatory in Florence, I took that to mean you wanted to visit the place, so I booked us a private tour for tonight.”

  I jolt up in my seat, spine ramrod-straight. “T-t-t-tonight? Why tonight? We can’t go tonight!”

  No! I thought I had at least one more day. I’m not ready.

  “Isn’t nighttime when you want to visit an observatory? So you can see everything through the telescope and stuff?” he asks, clearly confused.

  “No… well, yes, but—” I stumble with my words, not sure of how to answer.

  Tavian’s frustrated brows pinch together, and he abruptly steers off the road and slows to a stop. Shifting the car into park, he twists toward me and pins me in place with his penetrating gaze. I can’t look away from him no matter how much I want to.

  “But what, Lyra?” he demands. “It’s why you wanted to come here, right? What is it that turns you from hot to cold so fast? I don’t get it. Please help me underst—”

  “I came here to bury my parents!” I shout, cutting him off, unable to keep it all bottled up anymore. “And I’m not ready tonight. I thought I had more time! I need more time. Do you understand that?”

  He flinches like I just slapped him. Tears well up in my eyes and spill over instantly as the bitter aftertaste from my words lingers. We sit motionless and stare at each other for seconds that bleed into minutes. I want to tell him, tell him everything, but I’m scared. Scared of always running out of time.

  “Bury them? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?” He finally breaks the silence, his voice a hoarse whisper as he reaches over and wipes the wetness from my cheeks with his thumbs.

  “Not”—I shake my head, weeping even harder—“not actually bury them. They were killed two days before my eleventh birthday in a car accident. I brought their ashes with me to scatter in the hills near Florence, where they dreamed of retiring but never had a chance.”

  I’m not even aware of it happening, but the next thing I know, my safety belt is off and I’m being hauled over the middle console onto Tavian’s lap. He cradles me up against his solid chest and strokes my hair while I sob, soothing me while I breakdown for the first time since the day they died.

  He doesn’t offer empty promises or try to give sound advice. Instead, he simply holds and comforts me with his tender touch, patient as I work through the hurt on my own. I close my eyes and hide my face in his soft T-shirt, drowning in his masculine scent—a blend of sandalwood, clove, and sanctuary. His arms provide a refuge I never knew could exist for someone as messed up as me. Now, I’m not sure I ever want to leave.

  When my eyes eventually dry up and my chin stops quivering, I pry my eyes open and lean back slightly. The empty ache in my chest is still there, but the depth of loneliness and desolation isn’t bottomless like it was before. Like a little bit of pain seeped out in each tear that rolled off my face.r />
  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I never… I don’t talk about it,” I mumble as I attempt to scoot over into my seat.

  But the bands of Tavian’s arms around my ribs never falters, and I can’t budge from his embrace. I lean back instead, trying to put some measure of distance between us. He cups my jaw and drags my gaze back to his. His breathtaking blue eyes burn with intensity, his numbers all but gone. “Don’t you dare apologize. Not for that. Not ever for that. You got me?”

  My throat clogs with emotion, this time with humbled appreciation for this incredible man in front of me, and I nod my agreement.

  “Let me be here for you, Lyra. Use me. I won’t let you fall.” He tilts his forehead and rests it on mine, our breaths becoming one. “Letting go of the pain doesn’t mean you love them any less. They will always be your parents, and you will always be their daughter, but it’s time you stop hiding behind your camera and start living. I want to help you do that.”

  “Why?” I whisper. “Why me?”

  “Because, buttercup.” He smiles, his eyes sad, and kisses the tip of my nose. “We aren’t an accidental meeting of souls. Trust the timing of your life.”

  TAVIAN

  07.12.15

  “So what did ya think? Was it what you expected?” I ask Lyra as we leave the Arcetri Observatory, heading up a path to the hilltop viewpoint the resident astronomer directed us to. He said we’ll be the only ones up here and we’re welcome to stay as long as we like.

  She hasn’t let go of my hand since we left the hotel, where we had just enough time after our longer-than-expected road trip to clean up and eat a quick dinner before heading here for our scheduled visit. After her meltdown earlier in the car, I haven’t let her out of my sight except when she was changing in the bathroom, and even then, I waited right outside the door, not taking any chances.

  I promised her I’d be her rock to lean on, and I won’t let her down. This trip is no longer about me. It’s all her. Every thought I have is centered around her. The pull she has on me is unexplainable; no mathematical law or theory or proof exists to validate it. And I shouldn’t get any closer—God knows, for so many reasons I shouldn’t—but I can’t fucking stop.

  I don’t want to stop.

  “Yeah, it was pretty impressive. All the history here… I almost can’t wrap my head around it!” Her voice is full of enthusiasm and wonder, the same way it’s been since we stepped inside the building nearly three hours ago.

  Much like when she has her camera in her hand, Lyra was clearly in her element in the observatory. She fluttered excitedly from exhibit to exhibit, almost like a young child at the zoo, not knowing which animal to look at first. The questions she asked were thought provoking and mostly over my head, but the scientist seemed truly impressed with her knowledge and theories. I soaked in every moment she gave with her guard down, hoping I could find a way to keep it down.

  As we trek up the hill, following the light from the flashlight in my hand, her scent—something sweet, citrusy, and sinfully tempting—lingers on the light breeze, and my cock stirs in response. I can’t fucking stop that either.

  Now is not the time, Tavian. Be the man she needs you to be.

  “No kidding!” I exclaim, my voice too loud in the warm, quiet night air. “And that piano in the library that belonged to Einstein, how cool was that?”

  “Of course you’d think the best part of a famous observatory that houses one of the world’s largest telescopes is a mathematician’s piano.” She giggles and shakes her head.

  My chest swells with pride every time I hear that beautiful noise coming from her, and as each day passes, I get more and more addicted to it. I need it. Need to know she’s happy when she’s with me. Instead of seeking out adrenaline-pumping thrills, I’m now chasing Lyra’s laugh.

  “How dare you talk about the Father of Math like that?” I feign offense, squeezing her hand gently to let her know I’m joking.

  My goal is to keep the mood light and her talking for as long as possible. I’m prepared for the nosedive her spirit is about to take, but hopefully I can minimize the drop. And no matter what happens, I won’t let her fall.

  “Einstein wasn’t the father of math, Professor West. Pretty sure Archimedes was,” she tsks, grinning up at me. “I hope you don’t teach your students false information.”

  Dammit, she’s right. And how does she know that? Fuck, she’s got my head all messed up.

  “Touché, Miss Jennings. Perhaps I should hire you as my TA to help keep me straight.” I’m obviously teasing, but if she said yes, I’d do whatever the hell I needed to do to make that happen. Like yesterday.

  Slow your roll, dude. You still have to end things with Annie. And figure out what the fuck you’re gonna tell Ma.

  The playful conversation fizzles out when we reach a good-sized square deck, about twelve-by-twelve feet, at the crest of the hill—a new addition based on the pristine condition of the wood and built-in benches. Immediately, she tenses and stops walking, her eyes glazing over with dread. With the death grip she has on my hand, I’m afraid she may break a bone or two, spraining ligaments at the very least.

  “I got you,” I assure her as I stride forward, guiding her along with me. “We’re gonna get through this together, step by step, however long it takes.”

  She says nothing, but follows me up to the viewpoint, her motions stiff and zombie-like. I lead her to the center of the deck then release her hand so I can lower the backpack to the ground—her backpack I insisted on wearing tonight, not letting her bear the weight of what’s in it alone.

  Retrieving the hotel blanket I’d stuffed in it before we left, I spread it out then lie down on my back in the middle and pat the spot next to me. “C’mere,” I coax. “Let’s just enjoy the view for a while. We’re not in any rush. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen, but if not, I’m here for the silence, too.”

  After a few motionless beats, Lyra shuffles her feet over and lies down beside me, mirroring my posture with her hands folded behind her head as a pillow. I turn off the flashlight to maximize the jaw-dropping view in front of me while channeling all my positive energy in her direction, but her chattering teeth and shivering body have me hauling her into my arms and sharing my body heat.

  That’s chivalrous, not pervy… right?

  Ignoring the sudden tightness of my boxers, I drape one of my long legs over both her slim ones and kiss the top of her head—something I’ve never done before this week but seems so natural when I’m with her.

  “Deep breaths, buttercup. I got you, and you got this,” I murmur into her dark, silky hair. Midnight may surround us, but I’ll be damned if I let her slip into the darkness.

  Her trembling gradually fades, and eventually, I feel her relax into me. Neither of us utters a word for thirty minutes, an hour, maybe more. The blanket of stars above us is breathtaking, but with her nestled into my chest, it’s downright magical.

  We’re not only the only two people in the world; we’re the only living things in this universe. And this moment belongs to us.

  “My parents were the best.” Her soft, unsteady voice ends the silence, and suddenly my complete attention is on her words, soaking in everything she’s willing to offer. “All I ever wanted was to be like them when I was a kid. My mom was a harpist for the Houston Symphony. She loved music so much she lived it, breathed it. I don’t remember a time she wasn’t humming or singing or composing something in her head. I wanted so badly to be a musician like her, but after trying guitar, piano, drum, and voice lessons, it was clear that gene wasn’t passed down to me. My dreams of being a famous rock star were crushed by the age of nine.”

  She chuckles faintly and her fingers twist in the Pluto T-shirt I wore just for her. I imagine the bittersweet memory warms her with love while their absence leaves her feeling cold and alone at the same time. I’ve battled through the exact same war of emotions countless times when thinking about Dad, Cody, and Dawson.

  Tighteni
ng my hold on her slightly, I stay quiet while she processes her thoughts, listening as promised, all of it at her pace. Time isn’t on our side, but this can’t be rushed.

  “That left me with wanting to be an astronomer like my dad, and luckily, science was something I was good at. All of school, really. I was kind of a nerd.”

  The origin of her name—a constellation named after a lyre—suddenly makes sense. A perfect blend of the things her parents loved.

  “I was definitely a Daddy’s girl. I did no wrong in his eyes. When I was little, he’d tell me he loved me to Jupiter and back instead of the moon, because it was farther away and left light-years more room for love.” Swallowing hard, she continues, “Then, the summer before he died, he was part of the team of astronomers who discovered eleven new moons orbiting Jupiter. I was so proud of him. God, I miss them both so much.”

  She gets choked up on the last sentence and hides her face into my side, muffling her sobs. Our bodies fit together seamlessly, and I wonder how or why I’ve never noticed that Annie and I don’t. Hell, now that we live together, we usually sleep with her big-ass body pillow between us.

  It occurs to me I hadn’t even thought about Annie in the last four days. Haven’t even bothered to check my email. Shouldn’t I miss her?

  Lyra cries softly for a few minutes as I rub her back to soothe her. Unlike this afternoon though, she hiccups to a stop quickly, and once she’s calm, she untangles herself from my arms and moves over to the backpack to retrieve her parents’ ashes. With the brown box in hand, she kneels next to me then leans down and places a tender kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Tavian West from Philadelphia,” she whispers, her lips less than an inch from mine. “I’m ready to start living again.”

  And I’m ready to show her.

  LYRA

  07.13.15

  Brushstrokes of vibrant oranges, pastel pinks, and iridescent purples decorate the late afternoon sky as the Tuscan sun begins her descent behind the endless sea of vineyards sprawled out in front of me. I sit here on the porch at the Bergamo’s Winery—the third and final stop on our Taste of Chianti day tour—with a glass of wine in hand and my head resting on Tavian’s shoulder, and I sigh contently. For the first time in twelve years, I am at peace with the loss of my parents, and it’s all because of this extraordinary man next to me.