“This is a terrible idea,” he says, standing in Donna’s hotel room in Los Angeles at 2 in the morning, raking his hands through a rapidly receding hairline, “but Joey Lucas told me to-”

“What, Josh?” Donna asks eventually, all wide-eyed even though she ought to be sleepy, wearing a t-shirt with three cats on it that has no right to be as sexy as it is.

“Gather rosebuds,” he blurts out, gives in, and kisses her so many years ahead of schedule, kicking himself all the way, though he couldn’t say if it’s for waiting so long or not waiting long enough.