you have a guess, don’t you? I’m sure you have an educated guess.”
He pressed his lips together. “Less than forty-eight hours, assuming I can get her to blow the whistle and give me time to prove my case. And I can,” he added quickly. “I’m sure I can.”
A sob got caught at the bottom of my throat. I swallowed it down. I held onto his gaze, nodding spasmodically.
“I should have never come here,” he said heavily.
He threw the tent flap open, and the steam from the springs rushed in to fill the space he left.
I ROLLED THE sleeping bag out in the middle of the tent and stretched out on top of it, pulling my borrowed coat around myself and muttering curses when I noticed that the top of the tent was just a screen. I could see the stars, but it was going to be a cold, lonely night.
I didn’t feel like crying anymore, so I didn’t. I didn’t feel exactly sad. Instead, I was left with an empty, restless feeling similar to the way I felt when Nick left me the first time, back when we thought he was Gabe Dewitt.
I could probably work myself up to tears if I thought about him leaving—if I actually imagined him boarding some alien craft, or being beamed up, green light shining on his beautiful auburn hair. I could definitely work myself into a state if I thought about Nick— my Nick—disappearing into some giant hive mind. But I don’t want to cry.
I spent too much time after Dad died thinking about all the things we wouldn’t share together. He wouldn’t see me graduate high school or college. We wouldn’t fix up my first apartment together. He wouldn’t give my first boyfriend the fifth degree. Dr. Sam told me it was okay to feel sad about the things we wouldn’t get to do, but he also warned me against neglecting the memories I have.
The problem, though, was that I had less thantwo weeks-worth of Nick memories. That’s why I decided, screw whatever else happened, I was spending as much time as I could with him. I was going to make more memories.
I zipped the heavy, plaid jacket and stepped into the night. I hardly even noticed the cold when I stepped out, I was so revved up to find Nick. I assumed I’d be able to spot him maybe ten yards from my tent, pacing amidst the firs or melting ice patches. But I didn’t, and I didn’t find him at the truck, either.
My eyes turned toward Vera’s tent, in a little grove behind mine, surrounded by a bend of the steamy spring. There was no way he was in her tent, right? I walked as quietly as I could to my own tent, hesitated, then took a few tentative steps toward Vera’s. I strained my ears, but heard nothing.
Then, from behind the cluster of trees in the opposite direction, I heard what I thought was splashing. The springs… Nick had said he was able to regulate his body temperature!
I stepped into the shadow of the trees, where the air was thick with steam and slushy snow glimmered in the moonlight like a trillion tiny diamonds. After only a second’s hesitation, I wove my way through branches, over rocks and through the shin-high grass, heading in the direction of the gentle splashing sound.
I stopped when I could see a good bit of what looked like steamy soup winding through the trees, and looked around. “Nick?”
He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds, and I thought I had imagined the splashing. I was turning to go—already thinking of sneaking closer to Vera’s tent—when his voice stopped me in my tracks.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded frustrated.
“I…wanted to hang out.”
The steam cleared a few feet ahead of me, and I could see his form, a shadow against the pearly, moon-drenched fog. I couldn’t make out many details, but I could see lines. Like shoulder lines and pec lines, and delicious hip lines, before the rest of him dipped into the water. I had a full body-flush and felt thankful that, as far as I knew, he couldn’t see in the dark.
After a long moment, he sighed. “I’m bathing. As I
He pressed his lips together. “Less than forty-eight hours, assuming I can get her to blow the whistle and give me time to prove my case. And I can,” he added quickly. “I’m sure I can.”
A sob got caught at the bottom of my throat. I swallowed it down. I held onto his gaze, nodding spasmodically.
“I should have never come here,” he said heavily.
He threw the tent flap open, and the steam from the springs rushed in to fill the space he left.
I ROLLED THE sleeping bag out in the middle of the tent and stretched out on top of it, pulling my borrowed coat around myself and muttering curses when I noticed that the top of the tent was just a screen. I could see the stars, but it was going to be a cold, lonely night.
I didn’t feel like crying anymore, so I didn’t. I didn’t feel exactly sad. Instead, I was left with an empty, restless feeling similar to the way I felt when Nick left me the first time, back when we thought he was Gabe Dewitt.
I could probably work myself up to tears if I thought about him leaving—if I actually imagined him boarding some alien craft, or being beamed up, green light shining on his beautiful auburn hair. I could definitely work myself into a state if I thought about Nick— my Nick—disappearing into some giant hive mind. But I don’t want to cry.
I spent too much time after Dad died thinking about all the things we wouldn’t share together. He wouldn’t see me graduate high school or college. We wouldn’t fix up my first apartment together. He wouldn’t give my first boyfriend the fifth degree. Dr. Sam told me it was okay to feel sad about the things we wouldn’t get to do, but he also warned me against neglecting the memories I have.
The problem, though, was that I had less thantwo weeks-worth of Nick memories. That’s why I decided, screw whatever else happened, I was spending as much time as I could with him. I was going to make more memories.
I zipped the heavy, plaid jacket and stepped into the night. I hardly even noticed the cold when I stepped out, I was so revved up to find Nick. I assumed I’d be able to spot him maybe ten yards from my tent, pacing amidst the firs or melting ice patches. But I didn’t, and I didn’t find him at the truck, either.
My eyes turned toward Vera’s tent, in a little grove behind mine, surrounded by a bend of the steamy spring. There was no way he was in her tent, right? I walked as quietly as I could to my own tent, hesitated, then took a few tentative steps toward Vera’s. I strained my ears, but heard nothing.
Then, from behind the cluster of trees in the opposite direction, I heard what I thought was splashing. The springs… Nick had said he was able to regulate his body temperature!
I stepped into the shadow of the trees, where the air was thick with steam and slushy snow glimmered in the moonlight like a trillion tiny diamonds. After only a second’s hesitation, I wove my way through branches, over rocks and through the shin-high grass, heading in the direction of the gentle splashing sound.
I stopped when I could see a good bit of what looked like steamy soup winding through the trees, and looked around. “Nick?”
He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds, and I thought I had imagined the splashing. I was turning to go—already thinking of sneaking closer to Vera’s tent—when his voice stopped me in my tracks.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded frustrated.
“I…wanted to hang out.”
The steam cleared a few feet ahead of me, and I could see his form, a shadow against the pearly, moon-drenched fog. I couldn’t make out many details, but I could see lines. Like shoulder lines and pec lines, and delicious hip lines, before the rest of him dipped into the water. I had a full body-flush and felt thankful that, as far as I knew, he couldn’t see in the dark.
After a long moment, he sighed. “I’m bathing. As I
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