“I might’ve heard something like that,” I admit, throwing my hands up.
“Jesus, Melanie. You live under a rock.” Lexi spins around to go. “Have a good night,” she calls over her shoulder.
When I walk through the door to the bar a few minutes later, Lexi is getting Josh’s autograph and asking him for a selfie. He happily obliges her, eyeing me from across the bar with a slight upturn of his lips.
It’s another forty-five minutes before Josh and I leave. He follows me two streets over to my apartment above an antique store. The building is sky blue and old. The creaky wooden steps that were once painted white are now chipped and splintering, but it’s home. It’s been home for the past five years. I unlock the front door to the shared foyer space and place my finger to my lips, signaling for Josh to be quiet so as not to disturb my neighbor. Then I push open the front door to my apartment. It’s cozy enough with a gray sofa and navy-blue armchair. A TV sits on a small catty-corner entertainment center. Beyond that is a dining area and a kitchen to our left.
I head right to the linen closet and pull out a pillow and blanket for Josh. He drops his duffel bag at his feet and kicks off his shoes.
“I’m sorry. Thisisa two-bedroom, but the second room is now my closet.” I wince as I say it, assuming Josh will think I’m ridiculous.
He chuckles. “All good, I’m fine with the couch.” He sits down on it and hugs the pillow to his chest, inhaling. I have to stop myself from wondering if it’s my scent he’s looking for.
“Okay, well, wake me up if you need anything.” I chew on my lip and fumble with my hands instead of meeting his earnest expression.
“I’ll be just fine. Night, Mel.” He shoots me a reassuring smile.
I return it and turn to go. “Good night, Josh.”
“Sleep well.” I hear him say just as I close my door.
Then
Josh,
Cara was grilling me on the way to school. She keeps asking what is going on with us and no matter how many times I say NOTHING!!!! She doesn’t believe me. I don’t know what else to do. She’s acting kind of mad but saying she’s not, you know her typical huffy passive aggressive way. Maybe I should just mess with her and tell her we’re banging and see what she says.
Mel
Mel,
Banging…
No, don’t do that. I’ll handle Cara. She’s just being nosy. I doubt she even really cares. I don’t want to stop hanging out.
Josh
PS – Thanks for the visual.
4
JOSH
NOW
Melanie’s apartment stays dark for hours in the morning, so I don’t wake up until eleven a.m. I haven’t heard her moving around yet either, so I take my time getting up. I still can’t believe I’m in her apartment, on her couch, after spending the night reconnecting with her. I admittedly don’t want to say goodbye to her today, but I probably should find my own place to crash while I’m here.
I rub sleep out of my eyes and swing my feet around to the floor. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, but my back hurts this morning. I guess that’s what happens when you’re over forty. I pad into Melanie’s kitchen in search of the coffee pot. The kitchen is tidy and smells like disinfectant. There are no dirty dishes in the sink, and the counters are clear. There’s a small café table with a vase of white carnations on it. In the corner, a tiny five-cup coffee pot with a canister of coffee next to it. Perfect for just one person. I find myself wondering about Melanie’s life. I fully expected her to be married with a couple of kids. It seems to be just her here.
I fix the coffee and while it brews, look around the kitchen and living area. She has various photos on the fridge. One catches my eye. It’s Liam, with his arm around a brunette woman and two little girls on their laps. There’s a photo of Melanie and her dad, and one of Melanie and Cara at junior prom.
A loud yawn interrupts my snooping as Melanie pads into the kitchen. “I thought I smelled coffee,” she murmurs, glancing at me shyly.
“I can’t wake up without it.” I shrug. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Melanie steps closer to me so we’re face to face. “No one ever makes me coffee in the morning.” She puts her hands on my chest, smoothing out my rumpled T-shirt, a gesture that feels too familiar and yet, I wish she’d do it again. A chill shoots down my spine at the contact.
My breath catches but she doesn’t drop her hands. “Happy to be of service,” I murmur. Our eyes lock and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
