Page 128

Her thumb moves once against my jaw.

“So I said nothing useful. And I kept the Thursday.”

I turn her face up and kiss her in the middle of two hundred people.

“Next one’s mine.”

“Next what?”

“Next Thursday. I’m asking.”

“Yes.”

Somebody comes past close enough to knock her into me. She laughs into my shirt.

“You like this.”

“I told you I did.”

“You told me you liked a crowded floor. I didn’t know what you meant.”

“No.” She puts her forehead against my shoulder. “You did not.”

We stay for two more. At the end of the second one her hand has worked its way up into the back of my hair and she’s breathing against my chest, and the horns finish and the room makes a great deal of noise and she doesn’t move at all.

“Gabi taught me this one.”

“I owe her.”

“You do.”

I get her coat off the hook and hold it for her. Outside, the cold finds the damp at the back of her neck. She makes a small sound and puts herself against my side, and I keep her there.

We walk down toward the water. Her coat is buttoned and her hand is in mine, kept between us instead of in a pocket.

A tour boat goes past below with somebody talking into a microphone. I catch half a story about a building and lose the rest under laughter from the people behind us.

Astrid stops near the rail and watches the wake push against the stone.

“I usually walk down here with Tova.”

“She chooses the route?”

“Always.”

“Smart kid.”

“She likes being in charge.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

She gives me a look, and I turn us farther along the path.

Under the next bridge the sound changes. Water, footsteps, voices coming off concrete. Astrid stops and turns toward me and puts a hand against my jaw.

There’s no hesitation in the kiss.

I get one hand around her waist and the other at the back of her coat, and she comes close enough that the cold disappears from everywhere we’re touching, and when she pulls back I don’t follow.