“Do you think I’m pretty?”Smitty glanced away from the computer screen he’d been staring at for the last three hours, looked at his sister, and shook his head. “No.”“What do ya mean no?”“You asked. Sorry if you didn’t like the answer. I always thought you were funny lookin’. Asked momma, ‘What is that thing laying in your bed?’ And she said, ‘I found it hiding under a car, you be nice to it now.”

“He’s sorry, Chloe. He really is a sweet guy. Don’t be a bitch about this. And don’t screw it up. Just go over there. Give him a chance and, in no time, you’ll forget everything else.And that’s exactly why I stayed in my chair. I didn’t want to forget everything else, or the next thing I knew, he’d be back on that roof, putting his life in danger.“You don’t get to do this,” I said finally.“Do what?” He asked the question innocently enough, but his gaze dipped slightly. “I”m sorry. That’s what I’m trying to say, Chloe. That I’m sorry.”“For what?”He looked up, confused. “Making you mad.”I didn’t answer, just got up to leave. I made it as far as the door. Then he was there, behind me, hand on my elbow. I didn’t look back at him. I didn’t dare. But I stopped and I listened.“When I got mad about you leaving,” he said, “it wasn’t because I thought it was stupid or I didn’t think you’d be careful.”“You were just worried about me.”An exhale, relieved that I understood. “Yeah.”I turned. “Because you think I’m worth it.”He put his fingers under my chin. “I absolutely think you’re worth it.”“But you don’t think you are.”His mouth opened. Shut.“That’s what this is about, Derek. You won’t let us worry about you because you don’t think you’re worth it. But I do. I absolutely do.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping out of the car.“Waiting for you.” He closes the car door behind me. “I called you earlier and your mom said you’d be home around nine. You’re two minutes early.”“Should I go away and come back?”“What do you think?” he asks, encircling my waist with his arms.”

“What do you want want to be remembered for?" she asked tartly.He slowly shook his head. "I just want to be remembered.”

“Do you mind?” she asked.“Mind what?”“While you were looking in the mirror I couldn’t help myself and I began fantasizing about you. And I figured if I was going to continue to fantasize about you, the only polite thing to do was to ask your permission. So now I’m doing the polite thing again and asking, ‘do you mind?’”“No, Nina. I don’t mind at all.”Then she leaned down and kissed him.”

“I meet the answering machine’s small, steady stare. “What do you do when God tells you no?” I ask. But it doesn’t answer me, so I undress for bed”