“What?” Quinton asks at one point, his face masked with curiosity, and I realize that I’m staring at him with a big grin on my face.

I shake my head, unable to erase my smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling better. That’s all.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He smiles back and starts hammering a nail while I return to watching him move, because I’m finding it fascinating. After he gets the board nailed into place he glances around confusedly. “Where’s Wilson go?” he asks.

I point at the stairway. “He muttered something about going to check up on the guys below and then wandered in that direction.”

“Shit, I didn’t even see him walk away.”

“That’s because you’re in the zone.”

He smiles at me, then turns to go back to hammering as the song on the radio switches to a slower one.

“It’s really pretty up here,” I say, looking up at the sky through a small section of the home where the roof isn’t up yet. “You can see so many stars.”

“You know, I remember the last time you and I looked up at the stars,” Quinton says, walking up to me. “In Vegas… we played twenty questions and then we danced.”

I look up at him. “Yeah, and you promised me a redo. You know, I’ve really been dying to see your stellar dancing skills again. The ones your grandma taught you.”

“Yeah, I would never have told you that if I hadn’t been high,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed. “But anyway.” He extends his hand. “You want to dance?”

I glance around at the home with no walls, the sound of power tools filling the air. “Right here?”

He nods as I slip my hand into his and he pulls me toward him. Then he backs to the stereo in the corner and turns up the music so loudly that I can barely hear anything but the beat and lyrics.

“You know, I’ve never been a fan of country music,” I admit as he walks back to me.

“Ha, well, now I know something about music that you don’t,” he says, placing his hands on my hips. “Because I listen to it all the time.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Are you a fan?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I know the lyrics to this song.”

“I wouldn’t be too proud of that,” I joke.

“No way,” he says as he starts to rock us to the rhythm of the song. “You are so music-superior, but this time I got you.”

“Yeah, you totally got me,” I say with an underlying meaning that I think he picks up on. But I don’t care. He has me right now, in this moment. I’m completely caught up in him and all the bad that was nipping at my heels has dissipated. And it continues to be nonexistent as we dance, laughing when he pushes me away and makes me do a silly little spin. And when he draws me back to him, I can’t help but smile as I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Quinton, thank you,” I say softly as I hold on to him.

“For what?” he wonders.

“For making me feel better today,” I say, his muscles going rigid. “I really needed it.”

He pauses and then he pulls me closer, resting his chin on top of my head. “You’re welcome, Nova like the car.”

We dance for one more song, and then Wilson walks up and catches us. He starts cracking jokes about always knowing Quinton was a softy, something Quinton pretends to be annoyed about, but I don’t think it really bothers him.

About an hour later, we leave to go back to Quinton’s house. I feel strangely content on the inside, walking under the stars with him. I’m really glad I decided to be impulsive and come out here. It’s late, though, and I know that in a few hours I’ll have to go to sleep and then when I wake up the magic of this day will be over as I head back home. But I try not to think about it and focus on spending time with him.

When we get back to Quinton’s house, his dad is still at work, so he fixes us dinner—grilled cheese and soup. After we’re finished, I help him clean up the dishes.

“So what do you want to do?” Quinton asks as he places the last dish into the dishwasher. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a bit of dirt on his forehead, which I reach up and wipe away.

I glance down at the dirt on my arms and then sniff myself. “I feel really gross,” I say, scrunching my nose. “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure.” He shuts the dishwasher door. “Let me show you where it is.”

He takes me to the upstairs bathroom, then briefly lingers in the doorway, seeming like he wants to say something, before clearing his throat and leaving me to take a shower. After I pull my shirt off and slip out of my jeans, I turn on the water, then sit down on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to warm up, ready to dive in and wash up. It’s been a long day—that’s for sure. But it’s made me feel better and made me feel like, no matter what happens with Tristan, Delilah, and my band, I can handle it. I hope I’m right. I hope I don’t fall apart. I hope I’m strong enough to make it through whatever lies ahead.

I’m about to take my bra off when I hear a knock at the door. “Um, yeah,” I say timidly.

“It’s me,” Quinton utters from the other side of the door. “I brought you some towels.”

“Oh.” I glance down at my clothes on the floor, wondering if I should put them back on. Then, deciding I don’t want to be shy Nova with him anymore, I walk over to the door and crack it open. I stick my head out, ignoring the rush of heat that travels over me just from the sight of him. “Thanks.” I take the towels from him and our knuckles graze, causing blinding heat to throb through my veins, and I resist the impulse to shiver.

“No problem.” His voice is off pitch and I catch his gaze drifting downward to my exposed leg.

I think about stepping out of his line of sight, but then I realize that I don’t want to. What I want to do is open the door wider and step out into something new, something I’ve never experienced before, not even with Landon. I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to hide anymore. Life’s too short to hide. I just want Quinton. Now. No more waiting, like I’ve done in the past.

His eyes slowly scroll back up to mine and he blinks like he’s forcing thoughts out of his head. “I should go,” he whispers, his voice strained.

“Quinton, I…”

I’m not even sure who actually does it. Whether he pushes the door the rest of the way open or I pull it open, but suddenly it’s swinging and it bangs against the wall as I step back. I’m standing there in front of him in my bra and panties, feeling as though I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He extends his arm and places his hand on my hip, giving me a gentle tug so our bodies join together.

I manage to moan as his fingertips delve into my skin and the contact is so stimulating I almost collapse to the floor. He seems like he is in pain, torn about what to do next, but then he gives another gentle tug and seconds later our lips collide. I swear to God a year’s worth of emotions pour out of us as we grab each other, our tongues entangling, hands grasping each other. All the passion. Heat. Fear. Worry. Longing. Want. Desire. Need. Resistance. It all blazes through my body at once and nearly sends me buckling to the floor. But he holds on to me, his hand slamming against the wall to keep us both on our feet. His body heat is intoxicating, making me feel like I’m melting everywhere he touches me. And all I can think of is how much I want him. How much I’ve been waiting for this moment.

But then he’s pulling away from me, shattering the connection. “Nova, maybe we shouldn’t do this.” His breathing is ragged, eyes dazed, like he’s disoriented. “Not now, when you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset anymore.” My chest heaves, my hands on his shoulder blades, fingertips digging downward. “And I’m doing this because I want to do this… I want you, Quinton.” My cheeks heat as I say it, but I don’t want to retract it. I’ve never said that to a guy before.

He still seems conflicted, but when I slant forward to kiss him he doesn’t protest, his tongue willingly entering my mouth. Minutes later the shower is turned off and we’ve abandoned the bathroom and found our way to his bedroom, having managed not to break the lip lock.

The first thing I notice is the scent of him everywhere, cologne and cigarettes. It reminds me of a different place and time, one where I was lost. The memories are extremely intoxicating, but in a good way because I’m not in that place anymore, and the memories remind me of how far we’ve come—how far I’ve come.

Then I notice how bare his walls are and I pull away. “You took most of your drawings and photos down?” I ask, noting that there are only three remaining on his wall. One sketch of a girl I think must be Lexi, along with a photo of her, and one of a woman I think is his mom because her eyes resemble Quinton’s.

He nods with nervousness in his eyes as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I was actually doing it this morning right before you called… I woke up and just kind of decided that it was time.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but it is. It’s huge. I know because I’ve been through something similar with Landon’s photos.

Stunned, I return my attention to him. “You should have told me. You just took a huge step.”

He grazes my bottom lip with his thumb, a trace of a smile at his lips as he shakes his head. “Stop worrying about me, Nova. I’ll be okay… if they were still up then you’d have to worry.” His voice wobbles. “It was good that I took that step even though it was hard.”

“I know, but it still had to be hard for you… but I’m proud of you.” I slip my arms around his waist. “You’re doing so good.”

His breathing increases. “I hope I can stay that way.”

“You can,” I say. “I know you can.”