“Far too risky things when it came to her.
Michael shut them down, opened his eyes, and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse on the Strip, trying to focus on the here and now, not the enticing lure of what if. Soon, the lights of Vegas would blink like a carnival unfolding below him, from the miniature Eiffel Tower, to the pyramid, to the blazing signs adorning The Cosmopolitan. Neon, glitz, and billboards ten stories high whispered of the best nights ever.
He had to stay fixed on the minute details of the present, not be seduced by the past, and how good it was. Or of how much he’d longed for a future with her.
But he wasn’t having the easiest time of that. From his vantage point, twenty stories above the concrete ribbon that beckoned millions of tourists, he brought the letter to his nose for one final inhale.
The scent of falling rain.”

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