Time (Laws of Physics #3)(22)

“Mona—”

“It was good.”

A short, surprised breath fled my lungs. “Good?”

“Yes. Good. We spoke. We talked things through, I think. It wasn’t an easy conversation, and tears were shed. I know how you’re a fan of tears.”

I chuckled, stunned. Actually, I wasn’t stunned. I was disbelieving.

“She was nice to you?” I asked.

Now she laughed. “Yes. She was nice to me.”

Huh.

For some reason, I couldn’t let it go. “Are you sure? You know, you could come out here, meet me in San Francisco. I’ll be very nice to you.”

“Yes.” I heard the shy smile in her voice, and I imagined her face wearing it. “I could, and I thought about doing that.”

My heart swelled, ballooning with hope.

“But I think, after my conversation with Lisa today, it’s important for me to stay here.”

I tried not to be jealous or resentful of Lisa. I tried and tried and tried and would likely have to try again tomorrow.

“Okay. Well, the offer is an open one.” I stretched my arm over my head, bringing my hand back to scratch my beard. “Any time you want to join me on tour, please do it.”

“You sound tired. Your voice is scratchy.”

“That’s because we did four encores.” I yawned, relaxing a little. Finally. “I’m not tired.”

“You, Abram Harris, are telling me a falsehood.”

“I would never.” I yawned again around my grin. “Are you always going to call me Abram Harris?”

“Probably. Is that a problem?”

“No. I’m not complaining either. I’m Mr. Fletcher to everyone these days, he feels more like a role I’m playing rather than really me.”

“I get that.” Her voice was low and soft in my ear, and the constant ache of our separation became something else, something warm, less painful. “People have been calling me Ms. DaVinci since I was little. Can I tell you something? I don’t even like my name.”

“Mona DaVinci? I can’t imagine why.”

She chuckled, and then exhaled. “I’ve always thought about changing it.”

I settled more firmly against the bench, shutting my eyes, grateful we’d spent so much of our time together in Chicago sorting out when we would see each other over the next few months.

As convoluted as it was—twenty-four hours in New York, three days in London, forty-eight hours in Miami, another thirty-six hours in London—we were making it work.

Now that things were settled, now that we had plans and had made promises, now that I knew when and where and for how long I would see her until June, conversations like this one were possible.

“What would you change your name to?”

“You have to promise not to laugh.”

Still grinning, I shook my head. “Nuh-uh. I’ll laugh if it’s funny.”

“Then I shan’t tell you.”

“Shan’t?”

“Affirmative.”

That made me laugh. “Is it Wolf?”

“Is what wolf?”

“You want to change your name to Wolf?”

“Wolf? Where did you get that idea?”

“Because then we could talk about the Wolf coming, and it would take on a completely different meaning.”

She busted out laughing, and so I laughed, and then we were laughing together. God, this was so great. So great.

“You are—” She couldn’t speak, she was laughing too hard.

“What? What am I?”

“Never mind. I shan’t tell you that either.”

I loved her voice. I couldn’t wait until the end of the month and our first scheduled meet-up in New York.

“By the way.” She’d stopped laughing but the happiness in her voice remained. “Where are you? Still at the venue?”

“No. In the car, on the way back to the hotel.”

“Oh. Is anyone with you?”

“No. Everyone else is still at the stadium. I left right after the last encore.”

“Because you’re tired.”

“Because I wanted to talk to you.” I stifled another yawn, clearing my throat. “Tell me about your day. What did you do after you took me to the airport? Thanks for driving me, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. And, let the record show, you got there on time.”

“That’s because you weren’t driving like my Uncle Harry. For once.”

She laughed again, and the seductive sound relaxed every muscle in my body . . . but one.

“You’ve only driven with me twice. That’s not enough datapoints to make any meaningful extrapolations.”

“I love it when you talk data to me. Say extrapolations again.”

Her laugh was harder this time, and I imagined her blushing. “Tell me about the concert.”

“Well.” I yawned again, irritated because I didn’t want to yawn at all. “It was fine. Vicious Pixies opened for us, do you know who they are?”

“No.” She sounded regretful. “I’m not up on the music scene.”

“That’s fine. You don’t need to know who they are for the story. Their bass guitarist showed up to the stadium around the same time I did, except he was totally shit-faced. High out of his mind.”