Page 106 of The Difference Between

He wraps one arm around my back, I drape one arm over his shoulder, and he tucks our joined hands between us. My cheek finds the place where his neck curves into shoulder, the slope of my nose fitting perfectly against him. His smooth new jaw rests on my forehead and my eyes flutter closed. I imagine his doing the same.

The three-minute stretch of his heartbeats, his hums to the low music, and the shuffle of our feet on the boards of the old porch become my new favorite sounds.

The song changes to Frank Sinatra’s voice singing “You Make Me Feel So Young,” and a laugh bursts out of me. I pull back enough to look up at Gavin, and there’s a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You planned this?”

He guides me through a slow spin.

“Me?” He pulls me to him. “Plan dancing with Reese Conway after a date of her sitting on my lap, which I also may have coordinated?”

I snort; we’re back together. “Ass.”

It’s his turn to laugh and now we’re closer. “You know why dogs don’t dance?”

We angle our heads to look at each other. “Why?”

“Two left feet.”

I fight a smile. “Bad.”

My cheek rests against him as the next song plays: “Blue Moon” by Billie Holiday. I have to give it to Gavin, if he’s trying to win me over with romance, he is. I want my whole life to be right here, right now.

“Tell me about your life in Chicago,” he says. “The way Addie describes it, it sounds like Disney World.”

I’ve never once lied to her about the details of my life, but she does respond to every story I tell her like it’s magic—like I am.

I keep my cheek against him. “She’s telling you all my secrets.”

“Hm.” His hips guide mine. “She already loves you.”

At this, I laugh. “She can’t love me, she hasn’t even learned her lines. I haven’t done anything.”

“Sure you have.”

We’ve played, we’ve laughed, but she would be doing that no matter who she was with. I was supposed to help her learn the lines to land a lead part and instead she’s barking. Other than family who must be endured no matter what, that’s not how it works with strangers. If love really came that easy, it wouldn’t be so hard for me to find.

“To answer your question,” I say. “I live in a great building. Right in the middle of the city.”

“You like your neighbors?” he asks. “I’ve always wondered what that would be like.”

That simple nothing question amplifies everything I don’t have. Everything I’ve bypassed with my hours spent climbing to the top.

“We’re all friends.” I’ve only met one. “Since I have the rooftop”—Gavin spins me again and I dodge his gaze—“it’s where we usually end up. They have kids that play hide-and-seek up there. We drink wine. A small town of our own in the chaos of the city.”

We’re back together. “Sounds nice.”

“It is.” At least the way I once imagined it would be. I settle back into him. “There’s this place we go called Big Mini Putt Club—it’s a bar and grill with miniature golf in it. They make the best margarita in Chicago.”

I’ve never been a liar—I’m straightforward and direct in a way that most people consider cold—but the need I have in this moment to make Gavin think I’m beloved is fierce. I don’t want him to know how alone I am.

The song switches to one I don’t recognize, more upbeat and about life being a dream.

Gavin’s jaw scrapes my forehead as he talks. “You play mini golf in those ridiculous shoes?”

I let out an amused breath. “I’m offended you’d even ask.”

He laughs at my lie then twirls me again. This time when he pulls me back to him, we’re face to face, his breath rubbing against mine. “Sounds like a helluva life you have up there.”