Armand's ease against him, the little touches, inspire Daniel to drop a kiss against his collarbone. Too much threatens to be sickly, and he second-guesses himself now and again with the reminder of New relationships are always like this, he'll stop thinking it's cute sooner than you want. Might as well indulge while he can.

Terrifying word, by the way. The R Word. Relationship. A mundane, yet daunting, tag on something that's been deeper (and worse) (and better) since its inception. Since they looked at each other in a bar for less than sixty seconds, with somebody else between them.

"Yeah, smart money probably picks off tourists in Iceland."

Vacation— someday. There's temptation to do everything soon, before it fizzles out, before Daniel fucks it up. But you can't rush when you can't die.

This woman should also quit rushing, and he encourages her, which sort of works. She parks in a commuter lot and heads to a rail stop, buys a hat (with cash) from a vendor that's starting to pack up for the night. Her phone is in her car, she drops her keys into a trash bin. Vanishing into anonymity, as she begins to draw closer to this neighborhood, where one of them will have to start precise control to avoid her being caught on anyone's ring door cams.

"I like this, though. Millennials call it a 'staycation.'"