Killian grabs my elbow and leads me to the far corner of the porch. At the edge, he glances down. There’s no railing, and it’s maybe three feet off the ground. There’s a flower bed below. Purple allium and lavender and phlox. He seems to consider, and then he leaps down, grabs my hips, and before I can react, he sets me gently on the edge. Then he vaults to sit beside me. There are two big footprints in the flowers. “You crushed the phlox,” I say. “What’s phlox?” I point below us. The moon casts a spotlight on the blooms, the illumination turning the petals into glowing jewels. The scent of
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