Lincoln narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, making the moment almost feel like it didn’t happen, like there’s an option for an alternate ending to this night. He takes his jacket, folding it over one arm, then leans so close I feel unsteady. His lips graze my temple in a chaste kiss that conveys less than his silence. He slips a small, sleek box from his pocket and into my hand. “Happy birthday, Kerosene.” His voice floats over my skin, paralyzing me as I watch him descend the porch and the driveway, taking what’s left of my strength with him.
