where are you going?” Joy asked with a conciliatory grin.
“To the shore,” her dad said. “We’ve rented a place and a car and we’ll drive around exploring. No phones, no computers, total radio silence and some lovely peace and quiet.” He took Shelley’s hand. “Shelley’s been researching spots online and I have a tour map from triple A.”
“Did you check out that Dare to Tread book I told you about?” Stef asked. “It’s got a lot of great places that are off the beaten path.”
Joy slammed down her knife and glared at her brother, falling right back into that pit of fear that always burned at the bottom of her stomach: that little-kid hurt of finding out only after the fact that she was the last to know everything.
“Wait a minute. How long has Stef known about this?” she asked.
“We had to schedule things around Stef’s arrival,” Dad soothed. “We wanted him to be home for you before we took off.”
Joy slapped down her napkin. “What? Now I need a babysitter?” she asked. “I’m seventeen years old and have been practically on my own for years!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sakes, Joy—” Dad began.
Stef reached for more potatoes. “I’m not babysitting you, so you can quit acting like a baby.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
Dad sighed at Shelley. “Did I mention peace and quiet? Less than twenty-four hours and it’s like they’re nine and twelve all over again.” He speared a cube of feta cheese, then pointed it at each of them. “But here’s the difference—I can legally leave the two of you behind as semiresponsible semiadults without the authorities breathing down my neck. So don’t make me regret taking this time for myself and don’t make me think twice, or so help me, I’ll find a way to ground both of you for the rest of the summer. Do I make myself clear?”
Joy and Stef both chewed in their seats.
“Say, ‘Yes, Dad,’” he commanded.
“Yes, Dad,” they said.
“Good. And be sure to call your mother at least once a week. Now pass the chicken.”
Stef lifted the plate obligingly. “You started it,” he fake-coughed into his elbow.
A smirk pulled on Joy’s lips. She tried fighting it and failed. She wiped her lips.
“Did not,” she whispered behind her napkin.
“Did, too.”
“Dork.”
“Dweeb.”
“Lord help me,” Dad muttered, fighting his own grin as he sawed with his knife.
Shelley breathed a little easier and patted his arm. “I just love a man who takes charge.”
Her dad blushed as he took a bite.
* * *
Nine o’clock. Dad and Shelley had gone to her apartment to finish packing for their trip, Stef was meeting some friends at the movies, and Joy sat alone in the condo. Surfing the web, listening to music, Joy toodled around waiting for the numbers on the clock to read one-zero-zero-zero.
The wall of her room unfurled, and Ink stepped through.
Joy’s heart thumped as she removed her headphones and clicked off-line.
“Hey,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you ’til ten.”
Ink slipped his razor past the wallet chain at his hip.
“I couldn’t wait,” he said.
“You ‘couldn’t’?”
Ink shook his head solemnly. One dimpled smirk. “No.”
Two steps and his arms came around her. She curled into his chest. He held her close and stroked her hair, breathing a sound of relief. Joy rocked in his arms, content. He was getting better at hugs. She wondered which of the thirty-six versions this one was.
“I am sorry,” he said past her ear. “About before. I am still...”
“Shh,” she said, squeezing him tighter. “It’s okay.”
“It is not,” he whispered into the crook of her shoulder. She could feel his breath there, warm and gentle and sweet. “But it will be.”
“Yes,” Joy said, touching his face so that she could see him. “And you’re here.”
Ink chuckled despite himself. “Oh, I am very, very here.” He lifted her hand from his cheek, cupping the back of her fingers in his. He inspected each of her fingertips: pink and perfect. A mischievous spark lit his fathomless eyes, and his eyebrows formed a question.
Joy’s heart pounded. This was their game, invented at her kitchen table the first time they’d created his hands based on hers, tracing life lines and heart lines and the intricacies of each other’s skin as they slowly started to become one another’s—hers, his, theirs. She remembered that moment and he saw the memory spark. He smiled wider.
Joy slowly lifted his left hand in hers.
He will be learning about everything, watching you. Joy remembered Inq’s words as she cradled the back of his hand, feeling his eyes on her as she brushed the side of her cheek with his knuckles, feeling the whisper of his skin on hers. He slowly did the same, sliding the back of her fingers against his cheek, smiling back at her. Joy brought his hand to her lips, opened her mouth and breathed slowly into his palm. His fingers twitched. His breath caught in surprise. She glanced up at him through his fingertips, a slow smile on her lips.
He brought her hand gently to his mouth and copied her, breath for breath, exhaling slowly into the cup of her palm. She could feel the warmth pool there and run rivers down her back.
Joy shivered. Ink smiled.
Joy brought his hand closer, tilting it back. Watching him watching her as she touched her lips to the soft inside of his wrist. His whole arm flinched. The sensation skittered over his features. Hot pink fireflies danced in his eyes.
“Can you feel this?” she asked, the words tickling his skin.
“Yes,” he said. He bent his head forward and bent her wrist back. His lips touched the exact same place—the delicate, exposed skin of her wrist. Joy felt his breath hover there, warm and sweet.
“Can you?” he said. “Feel this?”
“Oh yes,” she murmured and slipped her lips along the edge of his palm. She felt him do likewise. Her breath hitched in her throat. She closed her eyes even though she knew Ink still stared, watching her with impish eyes, learning, hungry, eager for more.
She kissed his skin, her tongue barely touching the barest spot on his wrist. He tasted of water. He tasted like rain.
