Page 54 of The Escape Plan

“I understand that feeling,” Becks says quietly.

“Have you ever been in love?”

He’s silent for a long beat, and I’m about to apologize for overstepping when he lets out a sigh.

“I thought I was in love, once,” he says quietly. “But what Sissy was talking about earlier? How Noeleen and Douglas loved each other so fiercely that it broke their hearts when they went their separate ways? Well, I’ve never been in love like that.”

“Me neither,” I say softly.

“I was with my ex for a few years, but when we split up last year, I almost felt relieved because then she could find someone who was better for her,” Beckett confesses, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Someone cut out to be a good partner.”

“What makes you think you weren’t a good partner?” I ask, surprised.

“A lot of things,” is the response I get, and when I glance at him, there’s a distant look in his eyes as he stares through the darkness.

I want to reach for his hand. Thread my fingers through his. Instead, I place my hands in my lap and entwine my own fingers. Change the subject so I don’t push him farther than he wants to go in this conversation. “It’s weird our grandparents were once in love, isn’t it? Like, what if they’d stayed together? Gotten married and had kids?”

Beckett snorts a laugh. “I guess we wouldn’t exist to even be having this conversation in the first place. Kind of crazy, when you think about it, that one breakup can rewrite generations of people.”

“Trippy,” I say, considering this. “And on top of that, what are the chances that her grandson and his granddaughter would end up being next door neighbors?”

“Slim, at best.” He moves a little, like he’s shifting to get comfortable. His movement is casual, nonchalant, but when he stills again, the small space between us has been eliminated. My shoulder is resting against his arm, and our thighs are pressed together as we sit here in the darkness, side by side. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” I echo.

There’s electricity everywhere we’re connected. An exciting, zippy kind of spark that makes me want to lean in and see what happens next. Which would be crazy… but the pull between us currently feelsthatstrong.

“Maybe the universe wanted us to meet,” I find myself saying, my voice a little throaty.

It’s strange to think of something outside of ourselves operating on a bigger scale than what we’re used to in our everyday lives. I’m not sure I like the idea of the universe having a hand in our decisions, of fate determining the course of our lives… but then again, maybe there’s some comfort in that.

“If not the universe, then it has to be this crazy building that keeps locking us in confined spaces together,” he jokes. At least, I think he’s joking.

I crane my neck to look over at my windowsill, half expecting the book to be gone and the window to be firmly shut.

But it’s propped open, just like I left it.

“We’re not locked together now.” I turn to face him again, and just looking at him makes my heart beat double-time. I’ve never felt chemistry like this, a draw to someone that feels like it could overtake all logic.

All reason.

We’re only inches apart, and his hazel-green eyes appear black in the darkness as they hold mine captive. “We’re not,” he says, his voice low in a way that makes a shiver wrap itself around my spine.

He’s close, oh so close, his warm thigh still pressing into mine, his minty breath skimming my cheeks in the cover of darkness.

Is he leaning closer? Am I? All I know is that my eyelashes are fluttering closed, and I’m surrounded by his clean, woodsy smell, reminiscent of babbling brooks and fields of four-leafed clovers and golden sunsets over heather-clad moors and?—

Far below, on the street, a car alarm sounds, snapping me out of my reverie.

His head jerks back in surprise, and the second I lose his closeness, my cheeks burn hot. My breath comes shakily, and I’m mortified by the stunning realization that I think I might’ve just tried to kiss him.

Did I imagine him leaning in? Am I so behind on sleep that I’m losing my marbles?

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of the summer?” I blurt the first question that comes to mind, trying to force my voice to sound somewhat normal.

“Aside from hanging out with you on fire escapes and playing at Indie Music Nights, you mean?” he says teasingly, but I’m gratified to hear the hitch in his breathing. Like he’s affected, too.

I try to match his jokey tone, play it as cool as he is. “Speaking of Indie Music Night, I’m not sure where to put my giant leprechaun and shamrock decorations for your performance…”

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