"I think we need our money back," I said. I looked at the lady. "I thought you were supposed to pick for us."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Fine. I will write down what I think, and then we'll ask your boyfriend."

"How do you know I'm her boyfriend?" Dylan asked.

Madame Misty turned back to him. "The same way I know she won't like what I choose for her." She pulled out a pen and scribbled a note on a cocktail napkin, then slid it to me. "You hold it." She looked at him. "Now tell me what you want."

"Whiskey," he said. "Something with a little spice, but not too sweet so it overwhelms the flavor."

I unfolded the napkin. "It says, 'The Golden Heart.'"

Dylan consulted the menu. "It's on here. Rye, cognac, Peychaud's, absinthe-what's that?"

"Sounds kind of like a Sazerac cocktail," I said. Whiskey, spicy, a tiny bit sweet. "It's just what you asked for."

"A believer now?" Madame Misty asked me, her eyebrow raised.

I sighed and held out my hand.

She thwapped it up and down a few times, and a frown crossed her features. "Oh."

"Oh?" Dylan echoed with a sly grin.

"You will never be free until you let go."

Well, there's a tautology, I thought.

"Maybe she has us mixed up?" Dylan asked. "I was the one who needed to get free," he explained to the fortune-teller.

No, she had Dylan exactly right. He always followed his heart, he was always true to himself, and he only wanted to do the right thing.

"There is a fire within you, but you'll smother it in darkness if you aren't careful."

"Ouch," I said lightly. "You're right about one thing. I don't think I'm going to like what you choose for me."

"But you should let me choose anyway," Madame Misty replied. "For no choice you make can be true while your heart holds lies."

I snatched my hand back as if she burned it with her touch. How dare she say that aloud-I mean, how did she know? "What should I drink then?" I stated as flatly as I could manage. I would not let her or Dylan know she'd rattled me.

"Love Lies Bleeding," she replied, then wandered off.

"Ugh, what a fraud," I said as soon as she was out of earshot. Seriously, what the hell was that? Was she trying to wreck our date? Trying to wreck my life? I mean, that was the only option, right? It wasn't like she was actually psychic.

But he seemed unconcerned by the fortune. "Love Lies Bleeding," Dylan read from the menu. "Blood orange, campari, gin... That sounds tasty."

"That sounds bitter," I said, realizing only after the words left my mouth that bitter was what I sounded.

"It's just a game," he said, his tone consoling. "You can order a martini if you want. It's not binding arbitration."

And when the waitress came around again, I ordered what the menu called Elderflower Tonic, while Dylan went ahead and got the suggested Golden Heart. We also ordered food. Now that the fortune-teller was safely handling customers on the other side of the restaurant, I started to relax. Dylan obviously hadn't ascribed any great meaning to her palm reading, and I shouldn't either. It was just a lucky guess. Or maybe she sucked up to guys while cutting down the women, on the expectation that it was men who'd give her her tips. I knew some waitresses at Verde like that.

The Elderflower Tonic was a strongly herbal concoction served in a tall, slim glass with a sprig of rosemary. The Golden Heart came in a brandy snifter. Both were delicious and as we sipped our beverages and chatted, the date quickly got back on track.

"Do you have plans for the summer yet?" he asked me as we ate.

"I'm not sure if I can plan past next semester," I replied. "If we don't win this symposium, I may not be able to afford to finish at Canton. I might have to take a semester or two off to make some money."

His eyes widened. "Tess-it can't be that bad, can it?"

I shrugged. It might not be. My mom might be able to talk Dad into at least loaning me the money. Now that he was over his anger at me transferring to Canton behind his back, surely he wouldn't begrudge me a few thousand dollars a semester. Not after all the money he was saving on my apartment out at State. "Well, I was getting money from my father when I was at State, but he's not giving it to me anymore."

The problem was, I didn't want his money anymore.

"That sucks." He eyed me, frowning with concern. "You never talk about your father."

"We aren't very close."

"Does he live here in Canton?"

Alarm bells started ringing in my head. "Yeah." I took a drink.

Dylan didn't pursue the topic. "I guess we'll just have to win the symposium then."

"I'll drink to that!" We clinked glasses and Dylan's blue eyes met mine as we sipped.

"But seriously...plans for this summer?"

"Why?"

He put down his drink. "Because I got a paid internship with Solarix, and when I was speaking to my contact this morning she mentioned they may have another opening."

My fork dropped to my plate. "In Colorado?" The bioengineering firm was responsible for the largest-scale protype algae farms in the country.

"They pay for housing, too." He looked hesitant for a moment. "Is it too early to ask you to spend the summer with me?"

Yes. No. We were barely together, in fact, but it felt like we got some credit for the two years that came between.

I decided on the safe option. "Probably too early to ask for certain, at least," I said with a laugh. "Unless you've also been empowered to offer me a job."

"But Tess, you're perfect."

"How much does it pay?" I asked. Even with housing covered in Colorado, if I stayed here and worked at a lab at, say, Canton Chem, I could still pick up shifts at Verde to help make some extra cash.

But then, I wouldn't have Dylan. Solarix meant we could be together, far from Canton, far from Hannah and Dad and all our secrets, like the old days when we were at Cornell and I didn't feel like I was lying to him with every breath.

Ugh, that stupid fortune-teller. Was she going to ruin my whole night?

Instead, I let Dylan tell me about the job. I let him weave a beautiful fantasy of the two of us, the scientific power couple, living together in an apartment in Colorado, working together day after day in a lab.

"And summers in Colorado, they're so gorgeous. I don't even know-do you like hiking or fishing or any of that stuff?"

"I definitely like walking," I said. "And eating fish. I've never caught one, but I'm willing to let you teach me." I'd like to do all those things with him. And more.

By the time they cleared our plates, the spectre of the palm reader's warning had all but vanished. The waitress handed us dessert menus, but Dylan put his hand over mine.

"I've got something waiting at home," he said, his face full of promise.

A shiver rippled over my skin. "Something sweet?"

"I hope so."

I couldn't wait.

TWENTY-ONE.

We couldn't pay the bill fast enough. We walked back to the car, hand-in-hand, and Dylan was frustratingly vague about what exactly his plans were for dessert.

"Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?" I asked. "Tell me that at least."

He grinned as we drove back to campus. "As soon as you tell me what mineral it is that you eat."

"Salt?" I suggested after a moment.

"Touche. Then there's definitely some mineral in it. And animal. And vegetable, for that matter."

"You're impossible."

But Dylan just grinned wider.

As we walked up the path to the Swift building, my skirt twirling about my thighs, Dylan slipped his arm around my waist. When we reached his floor, I saw two guys exiting the room across the hall. They stopped and waved. He told me their names-John and Gary- then introduced me. "This is my girlfriend, Tess."

I had only a moment to revel in the title. I don't think he'd ever used it aloud before. But then I saw the boys' reaction. John's eyes widened. Gary said, "Oh-well, nice to meet you."

I felt the words he didn't say. The ones that included What happened to Hannah? Awkward.

Still, why did I care what someone else thought? It was Dylan who mattered, Dylan who called me his girlfriend to anyone who cared to listen. It was a fact that he'd recently broken up with Hannah. Oh, well. The salient point was that they were broken up.

All thoughts of Hannah fled as Dylan pushed the door open and pulled me inside. He shut the door with his foot and pulled me against him.

"You didn't really make dessert," I murmured against his mouth.

"You underestimate me." Hand in hand, he guided me down the hall to the main room of the studio. What I'd taken for lamplight from the hallway coalesced into something soft and flickering. Mason jar candles winked at me from the bookshelves and the bar countertop of the kitchenette. The effect was magical, sweet, unprecedented. I spun around to look at him. Already setting out plates in the kitchenette.

"You shouldn't leave candles burning when you aren't around," I admonished teasingly.

"You don't know I didn't ask a friend to light these right before we came back." He put down two forks.

"You didn't..." I trailed off. He didn't what? Ask a friend? Fill a room with candles for me? Choose me over Hannah? Love me? He'd done everything else. My mouth went dry as I watched him arrange napkins and silverware, as he whipped the foil covers off a dish of pastry with a flourish. Dylan was a constant mystery. He'd picked me, loved me, and now had made some kind of truly complicated dessert in order to...impress me? Get me into bed?

Come on, Kingsley, I thought. Last time I slept with you, you hadn't even bought me dinner first. Don't you know I'm easier than this?

Yet just because I was, didn't mean he didn't want to impress me anyway.

I realized he was waiting for some kind of response.

"It's baklava," he said at last. "I made it myself."

I swallowed, then came up to the counter to meet him. "Thank you."

"You haven't even tasted it yet," he said. "There's nuts and honey and filo dough-and really, it's the most complicated dessert I've ever made-"

"And you made it for me."

"Well yeah, but hopefully, you'll share..."

"For me."

He regarded me carefully, then reached over and dipped his finger in the honey dripping off each triangular piece. "For you," he repeated and brushed his honey-laden thumb across my lips.

I captured the tip of his finger in my mouth and sucked all the sweetness off.

His breath hissed through clenched teeth. "Careful, Tess," he warned. "Do that again and we won't have the chance to eat the baklava, and I've been dreaming about it all day."

"I've been dreaming about something else for much longer." I hooked my arms about his neck.

Dylan tasted of whiskey and honey. I caught his bottom lip between my own and sucked on it, echoing what I'd done to his finger moments before. He moaned, and his hands slid around my waist, half pulling, half lifting until our bodies pressed together. Our tongues touched, parted, and slid together again.

"What about the baklava?" I mumbled as he started walking me backward, away from the counter and toward the futon.

"Never heard of it," he breathed against my neck.

We fell back on the futon, a tangle of arms and legs, sliding against each other, rubbing and twisting as if we could, if we tried hard enough, entwine ourselves tightly enough to become a single person. It was with effort that I worked my hands between us to fumble with his belt buckle. He yanked his sweater over his head; I kicked off my shoes.

And then we were kissing again, breathing the same breaths, matching each touch of lips with weeks of built-up longing. And that was when I realized it: Dylan was mine. Mine. I could do whatever I wanted with him and not feel guilty. I had fought, I had waited, and this-this was my reward.

I laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back against the futon. He froze, staring up at me, his blue eyes curious.

I stood and grabbed the ties holding my dress together. I tugged them free, then shrugged out of the sleeves. The material pooled around my feet, leaving me in a pair of black lacy hipsters and a matching demi-bra.

There was no denying the naked lust in Dylan's eyes as he looked me up and down. He was propped up on his elbows on the futon, staring at my body.

"Is it like you remembered?" I asked, twisting a bit in the flickering candlelight.