Chapter 1

We'd dated for three years and had been married for almost five. Evan's number, the measure of how much he truly cared about me, had always been 100 percent.

It didn't change when we fought. It didn't change when his career hit a wall. Even at our worst, when we only talked once a month, it still didn't change.

This ability had shielded me from a lot of fake kindness as I grew up. After my father died, a relative said he'd take care of me, but the number above his head was pitifully low. I didn't tell him how much we had in savings, and sure enough, he kept asking my mother for money later on. There was also a friend who was warm and friendly to my face but shared my secrets with others to win them over. Once I saw her number, I stopped confiding in her.

I couldn't read minds, so I never knew exactly what anyone had done. But when it came to who truly cared about me, the numbers never lied.

Evan was the first person who made me believe I could love someone without being afraid.

That Friday in May, we had plans to go to a concert. He spent the afternoon at the hotel for a run-through of the show and came home ten minutes earlier than we'd planned.

I was still in front of the mirror, fighting with my necklace. He came up behind me and untangled my hair from the clasp.

"What's the rush, babe? You look like a grumpy little kitten. Relax, we've got time."

The necklace had been my mother's.

Four years earlier, when she was in the hospital, I didn't dare cry in her room. I ran to the parking lot before I broke down. Evan found me there, didn't ask a single question, and sat with me in the car all night. Later, when we went through her things, he put the necklace in my jewelry box. He also made sure we kept every old thing I couldn't bear to throw away.

Once the clasp was fastened, he bent down and kissed my shoulder.

I turned around to hug him, and the moment I looked up, my smile froze.

96.

I looked again. For eight whole years, that number had assured me I was loved. Now, for the first time, it had changed.

"What's wrong?" Evan's hands were on my waist. "Did I hurt you just now?"

I shook my head. He leaned down to get a better look at me, and without meaning to, I pulled back a little.

He paused, thrown.

I grabbed his hand right away. "It's nothing. Let's go, or we'll be late."

Once we'd driven out of the neighborhood, he started telling me about the afternoon's run-through. The hotel was planning to add weekend shows, and he had to sign off on how the space would be used and how the shows would fit around the hotel's other operations. They'd finally agreed on a plan that day, and he was happy.

"Daniel Reed, the production manager, says Chloe's recovering better than expected. They won't have to replace her in the last number after all."

Chloe was a 24-year-old dancer coming back from an injury. I'd met her. Evan had spent three months helping her secure work at the hotel, and he'd told me plenty about her.

And for those three months, his number for me had stayed at 100.

I'd meant to ask what else had happened today besides the run-through. But he was busy telling a funny story about a crew member who'd cued the wrong music, and halfway through, he started laughing at it himself.

I knew that laugh so well.

I looked at him and was suddenly afraid to ask. What if asking cost me even this one evening?

"And then what?" I asked softly.

Evan kept talking and reached over to take my hand. I held on tight. He thought my hands were just cold, so he turned up the heat in the car a little.

His phone didn't ring once during the entire concert. He stayed right beside me, leaning over now and then to whisper something. To anyone watching, we looked just like every other couple in love.

Only I knew how little of the music I was taking in.

I was afraid to keep looking at him, but I couldn't stop glancing up. The 96 stayed right there. It refused to turn back into the 100 I knew.

After the concert, Evan brought up our anniversary, eight weeks away.

"For our fifth, let's invite a few friends to dinner. We can read our vows again." He smiled at me. "Would you want to hear them one more time?"

My eyes stung.

Evan was still looking forward to our fifth anniversary. He still wanted to stand in front of everyone and tell me he loved me again.

"I would."

When we got home, we dug out our wedding photos and the vow book. He pointed to a blurry group shot and said our friend Miles Carter had sneezed right as the shutter clicked, so half the people in the picture had their eyes shut.

I laughed out loud. In the picture, I was leaning against him, looking happier than I did now.

While Evan went to get another album, I looked down and ran my fingers over the vows he'd written back then.

I had never doubted those words. Until tonight, I'd even believed that having this ability made me luckier than anyone.

But now the man who loved me was right in front of me, and for the first time, I didn't know what to do.