“You have fish?” He looks startled, like it hurts that he doesn’t know everything about me.

“I’ll get some to make you feel good about yourself.”

“Just admit that I can kill you, too,” he says from across the room now, both of us lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

“Why?”

“Because you’re stealing my breath, so you’re already halfway there with the killing part.”

I shake my head, zipping my mouth with my fingers.

He grabs a guitar pick from the floor and throws it at me. “I’ll let you hold on to your heart for a little longer. Just don’t get attached.”

I laugh, but then he stops and looks at me, and I swear there’s regret etched on his face.

“Forgive me?” he asks.

“For what?” I scrunch my nose.

He looks away, swallowing. “Good question. For not giving you what you came here for, I suppose.”

4:00 am

“Sometimes you make music. Sometimes the music makes you,” Mal explains. We sit on his bed, sharing a pack of something he calls candy rolls, drinking milk from the carton. “And when it makes you, it changes you, and when it changes you, you never know how you’re going to come out of it.”

“Same with photography.” I nod. “I feel like a director, showing you what I want you to see. I can make the field behind your house gorgeous or creepy, sad or happy. It’s all in the angles, and filters, and composition.”

“I don’t want to sing. Attention doesn’t get my dick hard.”

“I know.” I smile. “That’s why I hide behind a camera, too. It doesn’t…make me wet, I suppose, either.” I blush.

“So you understand.” He smiles, relieved. “I won’t sell my songs. They’re mine.”

“Do what makes you happy. The world will understand. If it doesn’t, it’s the world’s problem, not yours.”

Silence.

“Marry me, Rory.” He turns to me. “Let’s just stay here and feck and make music and take pictures.”

I laugh and pop another candy into my mouth. But he seems serious, waiting for an answer.

“Mal…” I say.

Jesus. He’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer.

“I have school. I’m going to college in a few weeks.”

“We have colleges here.”

“I’ve already enrolled. Paid. I have a dorm room. My best friend, Summer, is coming with me.”

“I have some savings,” he insists. “I’m good at what I do. I can provide for us.”

“You’re insane.”

“I never claimed not to be.” He scowls, and by the edge in his voice, I can tell he’s finding it hard to keep himself calm. Then he shakes his head, smiles, rolls on top of me, and covers my face with hot, wet kisses.

He taps the nightstand, trying to find another condom. There aren’t any. We ran out. He lifts his face from mine, wordlessly asking for permission. I can feel the weight of this decision pressing against every bone in my body. Especially considering how I came into this world. This is where I become my mother. Where I let my need and lust override my logic.

I give him a little nod. “Pull out, please. It’d be hard to take care of a baby during finals.”

“Feck you, Rory.”

“Please do, Mal.”

In the morning, I insist on treating him to breakfast before we head to the airport. He paid for my hotel and my meals since I got here. It’s the least I can do.

We end up at The Boar’s Head, which is apparently the only place locals eat. Tourists from all over the world come to Tolka for the small town, Irish experience, to work the land and tour the local brewery. I’ve learned this place is also known for its butter. The pub is jam-packed when we walk in, but a beautiful, blonde bartender finds us a table when she spots Mal.

“Missed you, rascal.” She winks at him.

It’s pretty easy to see they share a history.

Mal flicks the back of her ear. “Been a minute.”

“Call me this weekend?”

“Depends on a certain bell,” he says. Bell means a ring, a booty call, a one-night stand. But Belle is my name, too. Not that he knows that.

My whole body is sore from having sex with Mal five times last night, not to mention the extracurricular activities we did in addition. We don’t discuss the one time without the condom, because he did pull out. I tell myself nothing bad will happen, but just to make sure, I’ll buy a morning-after pill at the airport’s Boots pharmacy.

After placing our order at the bar, I wince as I sit down. Mal grabs my hand and presses it against his lips.

“Let’s try this again in broad daylight.” He clears his throat. “Stay.”

I tear open a pack of chips and throw one into my mouth, chewing to buy some time.

“As I said, I’m starting college in two weeks.”

“Feck college.”

“What about my mom?”

“Don’t feck her. That’s the kind of kinky I’m not quite into. But you hate her, Rory. Besides, we’ll send her hairspray every month. And plane tickets every Christmas. Easter, too, if you insist.” He reaches for his Guinness—yes, in the morning—taking a generous sip. “Stay, Rory. It’s kismet. Tell me you didn’t notice the rain stopped when we kissed yesterday.”