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“Nova?” A muscle tics in his jaw, his hands curling into fists.

His eyes darken and his throat works—like he’s struggling to get words out.

“ Ethan , why are you here? And why do you keep calling me that?”

My question jolts him, and he shakes his head like he’s coming out of a trance.

“ Alexis , why are you here today?” His voice sounds unused.

I narrow my eyes at him imitating me.

“This is my haven.” I smile and motion to the quiet courtyard.

“Really now. Your haven. And here I am thinking this is my haven.”

We have the same haven?

A smile twitches my lips and I see a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“I like the gardens here. It’s peaceful. I visit from time to time,” he murmurs.

“Want to join me?” I point to my lunch set up.

“I brought extra food. I was planning to park out here for a few hours to get some assignments done, but I’m happy to share.”

I unpack the food containers from my bag.

Sliced ham and cheese cubes, fig jam and crackers, some sandwiches I picked up from the deli by my apartment—the crusts cut off, of course—and a bottle of water along with my iced tea.

When he doesn’t answer, I glance up, finding his nostrils flaring, his intense eyes riveted on me .

“Do I have something on my face?” I brush my hair, untangling a few strands from my hummingbird earrings.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Ethan stays silent.

Almost as still as the gargoyles perched on the rooftops of the building.

I beckon him over. “Come on, live a little. Join my picnic. It’s a perfect day for one, don’t you think?”

His fingers twitch.

I roll my eyes, reach up, and grab his hand.

Sparks alight when our hands touch and heat charges through me.

Ignoring the wild pounding of my heart, I pull him down beside me and hand him a sandwich and the bottle of water.

I want to understand the mystery that is Ethan Anderson.

I want to know what he’s hiding behind those soulful eyes.

I want to know why my body comes alive in his presence.

And as fates would have it, he’s here in my haven, and I won’t waste the opportunity.

“You never answered me. Why do you call me Nova?” I munch on a cucumber sandwich.

“It’s short for supernova.” He stares at the food I handed him, a lingering wistfulness rolling off his frame.

“A supernova is a beautiful cosmic event—bright and colorful, more energy than the sun.”

“And you’re saying I’m like a supernova?”

His lips curve up slightly.

My heart flutters and I bite back a grin.

He really should smile more.

The ice monster is beautiful when he smiles.

“Well, I can’t look away whenever you’re in the room.”

I gasp and quickly gulp down a few sips of tea.

But it doesn’t calm the butterflies in my stomach, the way every atom inside me seems to be aware of his presence.

How I can feel his body heat even though there’s at least six inches between us.

How can I feel this way about him and Polaris, the god of war and the soothing poet?

“Do you come here a lot? ”

“Sometimes. It’s a special place for me.” He doesn’t offer more.

“I came across it a while back after I had lunch with Dayton. You remember him, right? You guys met at the hospital.”

Ethan stiffens and nods.

“When I walked past this place, it was like coming home. I don’t know how to explain it.” I lean on my elbows and stare at the sky.

“Maybe I discovered this place before the accident. I don’t know, but either way, I’m lucky to have found it.”

“Some things are worth remembering. And some things you’ll never forget.” He sighs and lies down next to me.

He said something similar during the interview at his apartment.

I wonder what he’s never forgotten.

Silence settles over us.

This should be strange.

Me and Ethan—someone with walls more fortified than Fort Knox, the icy Deliminator—lying side by side next to me on the ground, enjoying a peaceful picnic on a perfect day.

It should feel awkward.

My mind should race with questions to ask him to fill in these pauses in conversation.

But instead, there’s a surety in my heart—the ache I usually feel isn’t there.

I’m safe. Dark waters, screaming visions, splitting headaches.

None of that matters because he’ll take care of me.

I know it in my gut.

“Tell me your dream.” I turn toward him, finding him already staring at me.

His eyes warm a smidgen.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did you come screaming into this world wanting to be a CFO? Is the Deliminator a human or a robot?”

Ethan chuckles and shakes his head.

“I can never predict what’ll come out of your mouth.”

I toss a napkin at him.

“Hey! Quit dodging.”

“Fine, to answer your question, no , I’m not a freak who thinks crunching numbers is my calling. Actually,” his fingers fiddle with the cuff of the dress shirt under his sweater, and I realize he’s once again wearing those cuff links, “I used to want to write. Travel the world, sit outside cafes and people watch. Then take out my notebook and jot down my observations.”

“Really? You’re creative?” I lean in closer, eager to learn more about him.

His body is relaxed and there’s a lightness I rarely see.

“Stories? Poetry? Scriptwriting? What’s your poison?”

“Poetry.”

I arch my brow.

A lock of brown hair falls over his face—this is one of those rare moments when he’s not all put together, and I like it.

“Hm. I can see that. You’re a man of few words. So, of course you’d like to write the least amount of words too. Why make things easy for people to understand, right?”

Ethan barks out a laugh and I grin, my heart throwing itself against my rib cage.

He smiled! A wide, dimple baring smile.

And I brought that to his face.

“No, Lexy. I like poetry because it’s magic with words.”

Magic.

I inch closer. This is magic.

“The least amount of words to tell the most riveting story. Capturing emotions in its essence. That’s magic, don’t you think?” he rasps.

It’s seduction. His voice.

I can listen to it all day.

My mouth dries and I wet my lips.

Those ever-changing eyes of his snare on the movement.

His pupils dilate.

Heat shoots between my legs and I’m reminded of how we fit together that night at Mystique—hot and cold, fire and ice—how his raspy voice and talented fingers brought me to orgasm with the slightest touch.

My lips part and I look away, feeling out of sorts.

Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I sit up, grab my satchel, and pull out my notebook and a pen.

Flopping on my stomach this time, I kick my feet up and read the prompt .

Love, in Seven Lines:

Describe love without using the words “love,” “heart,” or “forever.” Use exactly seven lines or sentences.

Frowning, I stare at the blank lines underneath it.

How can I describe love in only seven lines?

I think about my parents’ volatile relationship—the intense highs and devastating lows, the fights, the kisses.

I get seasick standing in their presence.

How can I describe that in seven sentences?

Have I ever been in love before?

My heart flutters. Is that a yes?

I groan—damn missing memories.

“Why do you look like someone is making you do math all day?”

“Not everyone is a genius with numbers, Mr. Deliminator.” I shove him gently, and he slowly sits up.

“My assignment. I’m stumped, but it’s due next week. You love poetry, right? Maybe you can give me some ideas.” I hand over my notebook and sit in front of him.

Ethan rolls his lips inward as he reads the prompt.

He swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Don’t focus on the limitations. Seven lines is plenty when it’s used wisely.” His eyes snap to mine, and he holds out his hand.

I give him the pen and watch as he uncaps it.

His gaze roves over my face—a soulful caress.

Then he closes his eyes.

“Imagine it’s the end of the world, and an asteroid is barreling toward you. You only have seconds left with the person you love. What do you want them to know?”

His lips curve in a bittersweet smile.

My lungs seize, riveted by the intensity on his face.

His eyelids flutter open, revealing a melancholic wistfulness, and he writes.

Moments later, he hands me the notebook and rasps, his voice thick with emotions, “It’s been a long time. Go easy on me. ”

A scent of lavender lingers.

An imprint time will not erase.

Pain and distance cannot sever.

Her laughter, her light—a path I chase.

Once in a lifetime, a sure-fired arrow.

Even through agony, loneliness, and sorrow.

No regrets, only gratitude—the lavender, always , woven into my soul.

I grip the pen tightly, the words blurring in front of me.

My hands are shaking.

Why is it so hard to breathe?

I read his heartfelt poem again, and two droplets of water smear the page.

Glancing up, I don’t see rain.

It’s then I realize…

those are tears.

My tears.

“Nova,” he whispers, and cradles my face.

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” I wipe my tears away, but they won’t stop falling.

“What’s wrong with me? Is this a side effect of the meds too? I swear, I feel like I’m losing it.”

“Shh…” He crushes me to him.

“Don’t cry, Lexy. Please don’t cry. Don’t cry for me.”

He smooths his hand over my back as I tighten my arms around him, wanting to feel his heartbeat next to mine.

I want the pain to go away.

My pain. His pain.

Suddenly, everything is too much.

Too intense. The rightness of me in his arms. The shredding of my heart inside me.

The onslaught of grief coming from nowhere.

I need space.

Pulling back, I barely notice the alarm on his face.

I quickly pack up my things, shoving everything in my bag—the notebook and the pen, my cell phone .

In my haste, I knock over the box Liam left me and the contents spill on the ground.

Instead of putting them back inside the box, I toss the contents into my satchel.

“This. You forgot this.” He hands me a pen from the box, but this time, the cap has fallen off, revealing a flash drive.

I don’t have time to wonder about it when I grab it from him and jam it in with the rest of my things.

My breathing comes out in harried pants, and I stand, remembering to address the silent man behind me.

“I’m sorry. I suddenly remember I have an appointment. Thanks for your help with the poem. It’s beautiful. You really are a poet. This picnic has been wonderful. Stay longer—keep the food and the blanket. I’ll see you back in the office on Monday.”

Without waiting for a response, my pulse a cacophony in my ears, I scurry away.

Why am I feeling this way?

Is this what a heart attack is like?

Why—

Heavy footsteps pound behind me, and a second later, a firm hand grips my wrist and spins me around.

And I’m in his arms.

Ethan crushes me against him, like he wants to meld our bodies together.

I can’t breathe.

And yet, it’s like I’m breathing for the first time after I came out of my coma.

“Ethan—”

“Just let me hold you. P-Please. Just for a minute.” His voice is thick.

I halfheartedly pull away, my mind and body split between wanting to stay in his embrace forever or to run screaming in the other direction because of how it makes me feel.

Safe. Loved. On fire.

“Please, Nova. Please. O-One minute.” The words rush out of him in a choked exhale and the pain from moments ago spears into my chest again.

His towering frame trembles against mine .

Closing my eyes, I melt into his hug.

Hug is too little of a word to describe this.

“Ethan,” I whisper, needing to know the answer to a question that has haunted me since I woke up in the hospital, disoriented, and find myself in the tight embrace of a man who looked like he had lost, then found his world.

“We knew each other before, didn’t we? Those four years I’ve forgotten. You were there, weren’t you?”

That’s the only explanation that makes sense—why my soul seems to recognize him.

He stills.

The wind ruffles my hair and scrapes across my face.

“Are you staying in the medical trial?”

Yes.

No. Yes. I don’t know.

Taking my silence as an answer, he pulls away, the tormented expression on his face ripping the breath from my lungs.

He lifts his finger, like he has many times before, and I wait for the inevitable moment when he freezes mid-gesture.

But this time, he doesn’t.

His fingertip skims the bridge of my nose, light as a feather, and warmth unfurls through me in quiet, shivering waves.

He whispers, “Let’s leave it up to fate then.”