(Author's Note: Thanks for waiting for me to update and for the helpful feedback. So appreciated! Also, I cannot, for the life of me, get the italics to come out correctly on this chapter. So just know that this should be all be italicized as a flashback. Sorry for the disruption. ~ Rilla) Interlude in A Minor, Part 4

Sometime while the moon was still high…

He placed his right hand low on her belly, between her hips, and pulled her more snuggly toward him. Spooned together, her curves matching his; his other arm beneath her neck so her head could cradle against his bicep and chest. They were both warm, but not uncomfortably so, from the small bit of sleep they'd captured before this moment. Now content with how their bodies meshed, Ephram let his free hand wander up her torso until he cupped a breast in his hand. He marveled at its weight, slack and soft from sleep and heat, in his palm. Her back arched as his pressed and pulled and the movement brought him fully awake.

***

Sometime before the sky turned gray…

Hands held him and if it were not for the promise of more, he would have bucked and ended the bliss right there. But she hushed him and asked with her eyes to let her do this. He put a shaking hand to her face and cupped her chin.

"Please."

"Yes."

***

Sometime during the first pink light…

He never liked to say 'I love you' during sex. He thought it sounded false, as though the physical act was the only reason for the sentiment.

As the sun began to rise and the murky light turned pale and peach, Ephram called out her name. When she broke against him, tears in her eyes, he whispered again and again, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you…

And he did.

***

It was the Nightingale…

He asked if she wanted to take a shower with him, but she declined, favoring sleep. He teased her, kissing her hair at the crown of her head, and looked back once in sustained awe that this was all happening.

He smiled as he washed his body under the hot water, reluctant to use too much soap lest her scent vanish from his skin, and planned a breakfast of French toast. A day of walking and kissing in Central Park. She'd love the polar bears. Then ducking into his favorite café to warm up over hot rum and words. And that night, if he felt like sharing Amy Abbott with the rest of the world, he might take her to meet some of his friends. They would love her. They would be happy for him. She would smile at him and he'd kiss her sweetly before saying goodnight. And when he took her back to his apartment that night…

When he got out of the shower, the air was cooler and his skin prickled. He would jump back in bed and abandon French toast is favor of a different sustenance. But the bed was empty. He called out. The kitchen was silent. There were no other rooms to check. There was no note saying she'd stepped out to get juice, coffee. The door had not been left ajar so she could get back in. His keys were still on the table. There was no coat laying over the chair.

…It was the Lark.