by Sonja Stone
“Thank God. I’ve been looking all over for you.” He leans over and rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
Her eyes widen. Maybe they’ve found Damon. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing—I was afraid you left without saying good-bye.” He smiles his brilliant, beautiful smile.
“I wouldn’t do that.” She smiles back.
He pulls her close, gathering her in his arms. “Why’d you go to the dean’s office that night? After I warned you, why didn’t you run? You saved my life, you know.”
Nadia feels his heart beating through his sweater. “You would’ve done the same for me.”
“True enough. Am I squeezing too tight?”
She shakes her head and leans further into him. They stand for a moment in silence, Nadia enjoying the warm sun on her back.
“Nadia, when we get back from break, do you think we could start over? Maybe go on a real date? I understand if it’s too soon—if you need more time. But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask.” He pulls away to look at her.
She thinks back to what Dean Wolfe said about Jack. His feelings for you interfered with his job. She smiles and says, “I’d like that.”
Jack’s eyes shine as he weaves his hand through her hair. He rests his head on hers. She feels him take a deep breath, inhaling her. He looks into her eyes and then kisses her on the lips, as soft as the sun rising over the desert.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank:
Terry, whose love and support made this writing possible.
Morgan and Elizabeth, for your comments (criticisms), encouragement (mockery) and ideas (“You’re not going to say it like that, are you?”).
My parents: for dragging me around the world and denying me cool toys, leaving me no choice but to entertain myself with—gasp—my imagination and creative writing; for letting me fingerprint you when I started my own detective agency at age eight; for always speaking in complete, grammatically correct sentences. Dad: for the mushroom story idea. Mom: for copyediting my manuscript a dozen times (and telling me for decades that I should be a writer. Okay. I get it).
My sister, Rachel Smith, for completely ignoring me until the age of thirty. I’m certain this contributed to the building of my rich inner world. More recently, your constant cheerleading (badgering) finally paid off. It is no exaggeration to say this book would not have seen the light of day without your help.
My dear friend, Anna Kline, for teaching me not to be stingy with my words. Anna, you know my characters better than I do. Thank you for not letting me move on.
Anna and Rachel, for reading twelve thousand slightly different drafts. I am forever in your debt. Or for the next twelve months or so. (These words of gratitude in no way constitute a legally binding contract.)
Deniese Hardesty, for your faith and vision. Writing is the easy part. Thank you for helping me with everything else.
My clever and imaginative agent, Logan Garrison, and her fabulous coworkers at the Gernert Company. Logan, you really should write a book of your own.
My infinitely patient editor, Sally Morgridge, and the wonderful team at Holiday House. I apologize for my obsession with the Oxford comma.
My very talented jacket artist, Kerry Martin. You can’t judge a book by its cover, but I usually do anyway. Thanks for making me look good.
My sensei, Michael Cerpok, for your teaching and guidance.
Lonna Salter, for being a fan from the start.