I glance at Audrey, who’s pretending not to listen while obviously listening. “I intend to.”
“Gross. Drinks this weekend?”
“Sure. I’ll text you.”
I end the call and pocket my phone. Audrey raises an eyebrow.
“Your parents?”
“They’re busting Dominic’s balls after what I said at dinner last weekend.”
“Did he tell them they don’t have to worry as long as they behave like well-mannered human beings?”
“If he did, they didn’t listen. But they’ve pushed him hard enough that he told them their travel fund is under review.”
“Oh dear. What a struggle for them.” Her words are dripping with sarcasm, but something flickers across her face—there and gone. I file it away. Audrey processes things on her own timeline, and pushing never helps.
“My mother’s idea of economizing is switching from first class to business.”
“Ah.” She crosses to me, sliding her arms around my waist. “You OK? I know you haven’t really spoken to them since…well, since that disaster of a dinner.”
“I’m better than OK. I’ve got you.” I kiss her forehead. “Come on. Thai food awaits.”
Thai turns out to be the exact right call for how wrecked we are—hot, greasy, comfort-food carbs to soak up the hell out of the week. I carry the sodden takeout bags up to the apartment while Audrey follows behind with her shoes dangling from her fingers, since she took them off in the car.
She’s made her space in my place so thoroughly I can’t remember what it looked like before: her keys on the hook by the door, patent-leather shoes lined up next to my sneakers, sticky notes on my fridge reminding us to buy coffee and take leftovers to work. Her banana-scented hand lotion on the kitchen counter.
We eat on the couch, legs tangled together, an old episode of Taskmaster plays quietly in the background, the Britishpanelists’ dry banter bleeding across the room as we scarf spring rolls and panang curry.
Afterward, we make our way to the bathroom, balancing a stack of towels and my laptop for the requisite bath playlist. Audrey runs the water, dosing it with something that smells vaguely of lavender as I set up the speakers. She peels out of her clothes first—no ceremony, unashamed—and I’m hit with a burst of impossible gratitude that I get to do life with a human this beautiful, this unfussy, this alive. Her hair is a mess, her body covered in faint red lines from her bra and waistband, her smile a crooked little dare as she steps into the tub and stretches out like a queen.
“Are you getting in,” she says, “or do you need a written invitation?”
I pull off my shirt and join her. The water level climbs alarmingly, threatening a full flood event, but neither of us care as I wedge in behind her and she melts instantly, back pressing to my chest, legs draped along mine. She’s a lot shorter than me, so her toes end at my mid-calf. But I had this bath built so I could stretch out, so there’s plenty of room for both of us.
“This is nice,” she muses as I fold my arms around her waist and relax my body.
I hum my agreement. This is not something I ever imagined myself doing, but with Audrey it’s as crucial as eating or sleep.
We stay like that for a while. The only sounds are the hush of water and the thump-thump bass from the playlist droning through my bluetooth speaker. She laces her fingers through mine and rests our joined hands just above her navel. Eventually, her head tilts up, uttering my name in a voice made for late-night confessions.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“I believe in your edge computing solution, you know.”
I laugh, low. “I can tell. You only pace like that when you feel like we’ve found the answer and you’re running all the simulations you can inside your head.”
“You’re not wrong,” she says, and I can feel her smiling though her cheek is pressed snug against my jaw. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“I know we’re still new and we haven’t really talked much about the future?—”
“I want a future with you, Audrey. It’s the only one I want.”
“You have to let me finish.” She twists around to look at me, the angle awkward but worth it for the way her eyes go serious and soft all at once. “If we do this?—”
