“Ready?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Not really.” But she’s already walking forward. I grin, stepping beside her, my hand at her back. “You’ve got this, Kerosene.” She glances at me, shock rounding her eyes and slowing her steps. I have little doubt that she’s reliving the night I told her I was willing to take the risk—prepared to get burned as long as I had my chance with her. I consider telling her I was burned. That I still have the embers she left behind, ones that grow into a flame and spread when she’s gone and are insistent when she’s near—a constant distraction.
