Everything around her was spinning-- had been spinning--, but not Will, never Will; her hands clenched into his worn pullover, her body molded to his, she could feel him, solid and steady, an axis—
a Wisconsin construction worker now, with foreign, calloused fingers that sent shivers up her spine, with familiar stubble that made her tremble in unfamiliar ways.
Mellow numbness from the wodka still battling the sting of tears in the back of her throat, she opened her mouth.
Will tasted like the past, but most of all, he tasted like the present.
No time quite like it.