Page 81 of Find My Way Down to You

I consider telling him his brother already tried. I’m sure he’d love that.

Leaning closer, Milos says, “Or you can tell me what youaregood at.” The flickering fire in his eyes makes my skin flush.

“Cleaning restrooms?” I tease. When his eyebrows slope, I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s a joke. A bad one.”

I watch as a faint laugh bobbles in his throat. His thumb rubs along my knuckles. “What else?”

With a weak shrug, I say, “I used to do music. I wrote songs. Played a little piano.”

I’m surprised by how quickly the words leave my tongue.

Milos hums. “And you stopped?”

“Yeah, um.” My eyes drop guiltily to our feet. I hear Cary’s voice in my head:Do not look down.I jerk my head up. “It was just for fun. It wasn’t serious.”

Now London’s in my head:Journalism will be better for a degree.

Milos twirls us in a steady circle. I manage to not trip on his cape as my thoughts continue to tailspin.

My eyes catch on someone by a table. A server with broad shoulders and a narrow waist collects empty glasses. It’s still not London. But the sight jars something in me. My attention flits back to Milos.

“How do you decide where souls go?”

His expression shifts, dimming.

Quickly, I say, “Sorry, I’m curious. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“You are not.” He smiles smally. “Very few people ask such questions.”

I nod, waiting.

“There is a process. Rules. Books to consult.” He sighs, like this is the most tedious thing ever. As if deciding how someone spends their eternity after death is as mindless as doing a load of laundry. “I let them tell me about their lives as mortals. What they wanted. What they did with their time.”

“And then?”

A smirk ticks along his lips. “My turn to ask a question.”

I force myself to relax, even while my frustration grows. There’s only one way to get the answers I want. I need to play Milos’s game.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your parents.”

My brow knits. “They’re not very interesting.”

“I doubt that.”

I snort loudly. “No, seriously. My dad is a pediatric nurse. My mom works with plants. It runs in the family. My grandfather, his mom. They all loved plants and gardening.”

There’s a subtle curl to his mouth. “Is that so?”

I ignore his question for one of my own: “What about the souls in here?”

He grips my hip tighter. “What about them?”

“You’re giving them a second chance, right?”

“A second chance,” he echoes.