Topher guided me back to the living room, his hand warm and unexpected on my shoulder. “Just don’t snore, and we’ll be fine.”
Later that night, after we’d gotten Josephine settled, the bedroom felt smaller than ever. Topher had set up his makeshift bed on the floor, and I was tucked under the covers of the double bed. He had a small desk light on, typing away on his laptop, while I attempted to get some sleep.
“Can you turn that off?” I asked, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“I’m almost done,” he murmured, not looking up. “Just a few more things to finish.”
“You’re going to ruin your eyes,” I muttered.
He reached into his bag and tossed something soft in my direction. “Here, use this.”
It was an eye mask. “Thanks.”
“Just trying to help.” The faint glow of his laptop screen cast shadows across his face. As I glanced over, I could see him still looking at me, his expression softer than usual. “Thank you, by the way.”
I blinked, taken aback. “For what?” I slid the mask over my eyes, my heart racing a little faster for reasons I didn’t entirely understand.
“For getting my mind off worrying about my mom. She’s really happy. I haven’t seen her laugh like she did at dinner in a long time.”
There was a quiet moment, and I guess neither of us felt we needed to fill the silence.
I pushed the mask off my eyes and noticed Topher absently rubbing his temples. Suddenly, Gladys’s earlier comment about Topher’s headaches came rushing back. A little twinge of concern stirred in my chest.
But then I gave in to the heaviness in my eyelids. “Goodnight, Topher.”
“Goodnight, Kathleen.”
As I lay there, I could still hear the faint tapping of his keyboard, but the soft eye mask blocked out the light.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so alone.
10
I was awakenedthe next morning by the sound of groaning.
“Are you okay?” I rolled over to see Topher sprawled on the floor next to the bed.
“I didn’t sleep at all,” he grumbled, rubbing his back. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“I thought you said you sleep better on the floor.”
“Yeah, well, that’s when the floor is in a Tokyo hotel with climate control and 800-thread count sheets.” He sat up, stretching his arms above his head. “This... this is medieval torture.”
His hair was a mess, and there were clear indentations on his cheek from the cushion he’d been using as a pillow. Frustratingly, it made him look even better—like some disheveled model in a magazine shoot.
Before I could say anything, he reached for his laptop. “I’ll forget about it once I get into a work rhythm.”
He clicked the power button, waited a few seconds, then blinked. “No. No way.”
“What?” I already guessed the answer.
“The internet is down again!” He stared at his laptop like it had betrayed him. “I can’t believe this.”
“Why don’t you just use your phone as a hotspot?”
He shook his head, his expression serious. “I can’t risk it. For security reasons, my team has disabled hotspot capabilities on my devices. It’s all to ensure that sensitive data doesn’t get exposed over unsecured networks.”
He stormed out of the room, and I followed him into the hallway, right in time to see his mom standing by the door, watching us both with a raised eyebrow.
