“I don’t know. How?”

“Pay her for the pizza,” he says, with a loud blurt of laughter afterward.

“Nice, Nate. Real nice.”

“Wait, I have one more. I was trying to decide which is better,” he says, and I sigh into him. “What are the first two Italian words an art-history major learns?”

I sigh again before I respond. “What?”

“Venti cappuccino,” he laughs, and I roll my eyes in response. “Get it? You know, because you’ll be working at Starbucks…”

“Yeah, got it. Thanks,” I say, not really liking the jokes.

“Oh, come on Thirty-three…I was kidding. Honestly? I think that’s the perfect thing for you to do. You seem to really love art. And my mom would totally help you, you know.”

I stare at him, then finally speak. “I love it when you call me Thirty-three. You pretty much had my heart the first time you called me that,” I admit.

“Good. That’s the first time I wanted it. And I like getting what I want,” he says, pulling me into a deep kiss that lasts until the old grandfather clock propped up on the mantle begins to ring out twelve times for midnight.

The fire is starting to spark less and less, but I don’t want to leave this spot. For some reason, looking at the flames has me in a trance. And after a few silent minutes, I get an idea—more of an urge really—and I squirm out of Nate’s hold, getting to my feet. He looks up at me and starts to push himself up, too, thinking I’m ready for bed, but I hold up a finger; he sits back down. “Be right back,” I say, rushing to my purse in the guest room.

It doesn’t take me long to find the pictures of Josh, because I stuffed them in my purse when I packed for this trip. I wanted to explain them to Nate more, and then I wanted to get rid of them because I was tired of holding on. But for some reason, being here—with Nate, in this perfect moment—has put things in fast-forward for me, and I’m prepared to fully let go…of everything.

When I come back to the living room, Nate is sitting with his elbows propped on his bent knees, and when I come close, he leans back, welcoming me back into his embrace. “Does this gate thingy open?” I ask, pulling on the small wire frame that covers the front of the fireplace.

“Sure. Why, you want me to throw another log in?” He crawls up on his knees and opens the gate a little, but before he reaches for another log, I stop him.

“No, actually…I kind of wanted to throw something in?” The few photos I’ve kept, I now hold in front of me like a poker hand; when I do, Nate stumbles back on his legs.

“Your pictures…of you and Josh,” Nate says, and I nod slowly to confirm. He pulls them from my hands, flipping through them slowly, pausing for long seconds while he looks at each one, until he’s seen them all at least twice. Then he piles them into a neat stack, but keeps them grasped firmly in his hand. “I don’t know, Rowe. I think you should hang on to these.”

“I don’t want to anymore,” I say, and my conviction stuns me. I reach to take them back, but Nate leans away from me, pulling my photos to his chest and then moving them behind his back. “Nate, I know what I’m doing. Please?”

“Rowe, I…” he starts, but then he looks down, pulling the photos in front of him, looking at the corners poking through his closed fist while he shakes his head. When he looks back into my eyes, there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

“Nate, you’re not making me do this. I hope that’s not what you think. It’s something…something I’ve been trying to do…for months. For years! This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I promise,” I say, reaching forward again. But Nate only holds them tighter, his eyes flicking between his fist and my eyes, until eventually he stands and pushes the photos into his back pocket, and reaches down for my hand to lift me to him.

“Tomorrow,” he says, pulling my chin up gently with his thumb, and then reaching around to sweep my hair behind my ear with his other hand. He leans in and brushes my lips lightly with his, sliding both of his hands up until they cup my face. “If you still want to throw them in the fire tomorrow, I’ll build you one, just for that. But just do me a favor…wait until tomorrow. Just to be sure?”

My eyes are closed, and our lips are still breaths apart, but I can tell this is important to him, so I nod slowly; I feel his body release and exhale when I give in. Maybe he’s right, and maybe I should be sure. But I don’t think my mind will change, and feeling so certain—feels good enough for tonight.