by Nancy Holder
“No kicking,” he ordered me. “You’ll ruin my future family.”
Then he set me down and gave me another kiss. He fished in his pocket, aimed the key lock at my door, and opened it with a flourish.
I slid in like a princess, in my raggedy jeans and boots, making sure my jacket was tucked inside the car.
Then I saw the long-stemmed red rose tucked under the windshield wiper. Riley saw it too, and as he lifted up the wiper to retrieve it, the bloodred petals detached from the head of the rose and showered down in front of my eyes, like bloody rain. One, two, three, four, five . . .
Miles was gone.
. . . six, seven . . .
My love is like a red, red rose.
Eight.
I didn’t make a sound. Didn’t cry out, didn’t scream.
Nine.
At least, not then.
The secret waits for eyes unclouded by longing.
—Tao Te Ching
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks first and foremost to my wonderful editor, Brianne Mulligan. You make me want to be a better writer. Deepest thanks to my publisher, Ben Schrank, for supporting my work, and to the entire Razorbill team: Gillian Levinson, Will Prince, and Emily Osborne. Thanks to Caroline Sun, my publicist, and Anna Jarzab, in charge of online and consumer marketing. Lori Thorn, my cover designer, I am so grateful for my beautiful covers. I thank the stars every day that Howard Morhaim is my agent; Katie Menick is his assistant; and Erin Underwood is my assistant. Belle Holder, Leslie Ackel, Debbie Viguie, Pamela Escobedo, Beth Hogan, and Amy Schricker, thanks for being my home team. And thank you to the rest of my family.
