burn between us
Dante looked at the manuscript on the kitchen table — the fourth novel, complete, the final work of the series that had been the story of their life told in the order the life had happened.
"Title?" he said.
Elian had been waiting for the question. The pause had the specific quality of the answer being ready.
"The Morning," he said.
Dante held it. The Morning. The whole series completing in two words — the journey from the four AM hotel room to the kitchen with the light and the coffee.
"Yes," he said. "That's right."
"It's right," Elian said.
They stood in the kitchen — the same kitchen, the title kitchen, the kitchen where everything lived — and the fourth novel was done, and the series wa
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