Anouk saw Orson before he saw her and forgot the sensible arrangement she’d made to meet him by the exit. She went straight through the waiting people, caught his sleeve and kissed him with enough force to make him drop his bag.
He laughed against her mouth, then stopped laughing and kissed her back.
“Hello,” he said when she let him breathe.
“I had a more dignified plan.”
“I prefer this one.”
She put both hands on his face. He was real, warm, a little rough at the jaw. For weeks she’d been touching a screen or the sleeve of his cardigan. Now there was skin under her thumbs and his arm around her waist, and she wanted to stand there until everyone else went home.
He picked up the bag without releasing her hand.
“Show me,” he said.
She did. The route from the station, the corner where the…
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