“I wanted it to be you,” he said, his voice deep, rough-hewn. “When I returned to the museum for that final interview . . . gods, how I wanted it to be you.” And he had gotten his desire, only not how he had envisioned it. I took the first step to him, and it broke the storm that had been building between us. He met me in the center of the room, and I had enough sense to flick my fingers and charm the door shut before we collided.
