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Then, about three weeks later, everything changed.
She and Harte had been sitting together on the couch in an easy, companionable silence, when Esta woke from an unintended nap and discovered that it was later than she’d realized. Harte had dozed off too. She started to lift herself from the couch carefully, so as not to wake him, but his eyes fluttered open.
“I should get going,” she told him. “We need dinner, and I—”
“Later,” he said softly, tracing his finger across the back of her hand.
It was barely anything, the lightest fluttering of skin, warm and sure, against hers. But it was the first time he’d made a move to touch her on purpose since they’d settled in the hotel, and the shock of his skin made Esta’s breath catch.
“Stay a while longer,” he said, his gray eyes calm as the morning fog.
“The deli on the corner will close soon,” she explained.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“You will be, and even if you aren’t, you’ll need to eat,” she told him. “I know you’re feeling better, but you have a ways to go. You’re still so thin.”
“I’m not sick anymore, Esta,” Harte murmured.
But Esta noticed the angles of his cheekbones and the way his collarbones jutted sharply beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, and she could only see how close she’d come to losing him.
“I’m okay,” he told her gently. “You don’t have to keep worrying about me.”
“Fine.” She tried to pull away, confused and embarrassed by the rush of emotions she felt, but he pinned her hand more firmly with his. He was right. She knew that. Harte didn’t need her to take care of him anymore, not like he had in those early days. “Let me go, Harte,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Not yet,” he said. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. He might have said he wasn’t hungry, but his eyes told a different story.
“Darrigan…,” she warned, but the catch in her voice betrayed her.
His face came closer, and Esta couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. In the days that had followed their escape, she’d barely thought about anything but making sure he stayed well, grew stronger. She’d cared for him like a nurse for a patient, never letting herself see him as a man—as himself. But now something essential seemed to have changed between them.
He paused, waiting for her consent, and she knew that if she let him come any closer, if she allowed him to press his lips against hers, there would be no turning back.
“We can’t stay here forever,” she told him, still not pulling away.
“But we can stay right now. We can for a little while longer,” he replied, his breath warm against her lips.
“Can we?” she asked, and she found she really didn’t know the answer. They had so much ahead of them to accomplish. And Esta had not forgotten what happened in Denver, the too-clear warnings time had issued.
In answer, Harte pressed his mouth against hers, soft and firm all at once, and every cell in her body seemed to sigh. It felt like she’d been swimming underwater, without air, for so long, and now she’d finally surfaced.
Esta could not stop herself from letting Harte pull her into the kiss. Her mouth opened slightly, and their breath intermingled, warm and sweet and so right that she thought she might shatter. She felt the warm slide of his tongue against her lips, and then, as she opened farther for him, it was over. He pulled away, his eyes wide with something that might have been pain or might have been fear.
“She’s back,” Esta said, knowing immediately what had put that expression on Harte’s face. Seshat had been quiet, so they’d been saving the Quellant, but they should have known better. It had been too much to hope that Seshat’s absence could have been permanent.
He scooted away from her, and then he stood and went to the window as he ran a shaking hand through his already rumpled hair. His eyes were stormy now. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I should have known better.”
“We both should have…” She never should have allowed it. They couldn’t risk everything for something as silly as kissing—even if in that moment kissing felt more essential than anything.
The heat in Harte’s eyes made Esta’s throat go tight, and she knew they’d reached a turning point that couldn’t be ignored. They couldn’t stay there, in that room—in that time—avoiding their responsibilities any longer. Nibsy could still be out there searching for the stones. Jack certainly still had the Book. And hiding from the world wouldn’t protect them… not when the greatest danger lived inside Harte’s skin.
“Dinner,” she told him, as if a simple errand could ever be enough to distract her.
The next morning, Esta stood at the window, watching the city wake as she contemplated her options. Below, a monochrome sea of gray and black suits made their way along the crowded sidewalks while trolleys and buses plodded through the streets. For the last few weeks, she’d been completely focused on Harte—on making sure he grew stronger every day. Now she looked at the world outside their room and wondered what their actions in 1904 might have done to this time, to this present. It was long past time to find out.
Harte was watching a variety show on the television, laughing at a comedian with a puppet, when Esta walked over and switched off the set.
He looked up at her, clearly annoyed.
