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276 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 28, 2017
“Thank you, Ames.” He lifted his head, eyes connecting with mine from across the room. “For not letting go.” I gave him a small smile just before I pushed out the door.
“I only make promises I know I can keep.”
A new light came over her. “On the bridge. You promised you wouldn’t let go of me.”
I nodded and hoped she saw the sincerity in my eyes. “I don’t promise things that I don’t know, with absolute sincerity, I can fulfill.”
“But you weren’t able to pull me over the railing. Eventually, you would’ve had to let me go.” I shook my head, and turned more fully toward her. I tightened my grip on her, not painfully so, but to emphasize how serious my next words were. “I meant it. I would’ve fallen in with you before I would’ve let go of you.”
“Oh.” Her voice had taken on a whisper of air—like she was suddenly weightless. She didn’t stop looking at me. It was if my words had suddenly taken on weight, making me feel completely grounded, stilled to stone.
And then, she blurted, “Why?”
I blinked. “Because I didn’t want you to be alone.”
"He tasted like heartbreak and hope."
“I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t have any answers. I’m not looking for a relationship, especially not one with an expiration date.”
Her bottom lip jutted out and I glided my thumbs along her jaw. “But there’s one thing I do know, without a shred of doubt, and that’s when I touch you, I go a little stupid.” I felt her throat jump under my caressing. “You have an effect on me that I don’t want—but now that I know it exists, I don’t want to let go of it.”
“Promise?”
I held her eyes as long as I could. “I promise.”
"I thought to myself, this woman has never touched any sadness in her life."
I let that sink in as my heart tumbled just a bit in my chest. "Well, that's not true. I’ve touched sadness. But I refuse to let it consume who I am.”
“It’s a choice—to wallow in despair or to acknowledge what can still bring happiness to my life. And I’m choosing to live despite the heartache."
"Don’t,” I pointed a finger at her and stood up from the bed, “tell me how to love, how to heal, how to breathe. Because you don’t even know me.”
Ames: I was hoping there was a trellis or something of the sort for me to climb. Romeo and Juliet, right?
Me: You were going to climb up to my room?
Ames: Yeah. But not in a creepy way. In a very suave, Romeo way. And hopefully I wouldn’t be arrested or break something on my person.













It didn’t help that she reminded me so much of her.
And just that brief, flicker of thought had me rubbing the cool metal of my ring with my thumb.
But I was annoyed. Because it wasn’t just the way she said my name that unsettled me. It was that annoying little hum, like an appliance turning on, reminding me how much Mila reminded me of Mahlon. My Mal.