The next morning, I woke with a pounding headache. The sun pouring in through the window lit the mocha-painted walls of Will’s bedroom with a golden glow. It was bare and very clean. The most color came from a large bookcase, and a plush black leather sofa chair sat in a corner. On the wall opposite the bed were three guitars propped up on stands. I recognized all three of them. The room still smelled like him and brought back the memory and shame of last night, when Will had brought me in here. The shirt I had torn off him was still lying on the floor as a brutal reminder. I felt sick to my stomach, not because I was that hung over, but because I was embarrassed and furious with myself for the way I had behaved. I wasn’t the kind of girl who threw herself at a boy. I’d made a lot of mistakes last night.

I slid out from underneath the blankets, running my hand along the soft mattress, touching the hem of the pillowcase. Being in his bed felt powerfully intimate, and beneath the smell of last night’s party, I caught his scent on my skin. His smell was all over me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before dragging myself out of his bed. I moved through his bedroom, touching everything, picking up small things off the dresser. I examined a sprig of dried flowers that looked like jasmine. I loved the scent, especially when mixed with vanilla. I set it down carefully and lifted a decorative hair comb beside it. The piece looked more than a century old and was glossy and delicate. The comb part of it was black and iridescent like an oil slick, and a carved bird of all different shades of purple, gold, and red rose out of what looked like flower petals … or flames.

I returned the hair comb to the dresser and stood there, contemplating what to do next. Not wanting to lose the wonderful feeling of Will’s scent all over me, I settled on going into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth with the extra toothbrush he had offered. I could feel my mascara crusting around my eyes, and my hair was a tangled mess. Running a brush through my hair was a battle, but soon I felt refreshed with a clean face.

I dug my cell out of the pocket of my skirt. I had three texts from Kate asking where I was and if I was all right. I texted her back that I was alive and with Will and that I’d call her later. What I didn’t say, but wanted to, was that I was never sneaking out to a college party with her again—until I was in college, at least. Too much had happened last night that didn’t need to happen. She’d left me on my own with a guy I didn’t know. The thought of it made me flush briefly with anger. When I saw her next, there would be some words exchanged. I also prayed she’d had the sense enough to grab my purse and jacket from that house when she left.

I didn’t have a change of clothes, so I stayed in Lauren’s pajamas. They were lightweight and I was a little chilly, but the cold felt good for my hangover. My stomach growled, so I crept out of Will’s room. As soon as I opened the door, I caught the thick, delicious scent of eggs and bacon. Nathaniel often made dinner for us when we were over, and even though this was my first time staying the night here, I wasn’t surprised that he’d cook breakfast. I forced a smile on my face and straightened out my tank as I stepped downstairs and followed the smells into the kitchen. My gut dropped when I saw it was Will at the stove cooking instead of Nathaniel. My fake smile disappeared. No need for that anymore.

He looked up at me as I walked in. And then he looked away. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “How are you feeling?” He prodded at the eggs frying in the pan in front of him.

I gave him a smart smirk and crossed my arms over my chest. “Peachy. How are your knuckles?”

He set his fist down on the counter without dropping the spatula. The eggs smelled like they were burning. “They attacked me first.”

“You could have just gotten in the car and driven away.”

The look he gave me was serious. “I could have, but I didn’t. I made a choice, regardless if it was wrong or right. I wanted to do a lot more than I did.”

“You’re burning those eggs.”

He took a deep breath. “Ellie.”

“If you’re going to make me breakfast, then don’t burn it.”

He took the pan away from the heat and scraped out the eggs with the spatula and placed them on a plate. I caught the faintest glimmer of a smile. “Who says I made these for you?”

I sat down at the bar. “Me.”

He filled a glass with orange juice for me and presented it with the plateful of eggs and bacon as if it were a peace offering. “My knuckles are fine.”

I took the plate and glass. “That’s a shame.”

His brow flickered, and he leaned his back against the counter on the other side of the room. Even from this far away, I could see the familiar flash in his eyes. I could’ve seen it a mile away in the dead of night.

“There was a comb in your room,” I said. “On top of your dresser. With a bird on it.”

“It’s yours. The bird is a phoenix … rising from its ashes.”

“Has it always been mine, like my necklace?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I bought the comb for you over a hundred years ago, from a …”

But I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. My mind slipped away, drifting into the memories of that day.

The market in Shanghai was packed with people roaming from makeshift tent to makeshift tent, bartering loudly, shopkeepers darting after thieves. The street was a blaze of color, sights, and sounds. Heady scents of oils and spices pulled my attention in every direction. I wanted to see everything there was.