Emma:
My shift ends at midnight.
Technically.
Emotionally? I think I died around eleven-fifteen in a hallway with Wright’s mouth on mine.
By the time Casey finally shoos me out with a teasing, “Go home, lover girl,” my hands still aren’t steady.
I step outside and—
November sucker-punches me.
The cold hits instantly, sliding icy fingers under my shirt, raising goosebumps across my arms. My breath fogs in the air. The wind smells like winter and wet pavement and the first hint of snow.
I hug my coat tighter around myself and—
Freeze.
Because someone is leaning against the brick wall to the right of the door.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Sleeves still rolled up, like the cold isn’t allowed to touch him. Head bowed, hands in his pockets.
Waiting.
Waiting for me.
My heartbeat trips ove
