“Not really.” He gestured with his chin. “Brooklyn College. You went there?”
I touched the faded script that ran across my gray T-shirt. “Yeah. My grandfather is also a professor at the college.”
He gestured to the free side of the bed. “May I?”
“Oh—please.”
He sat down and his large form swallowed most of the space. Even in a king-sized bed, Brooks made it look small. I wondered if he was a bed hog. A cover thief.
Did he snore?
Hmmm.
“What’s he teach?” Brooks asked.
“Medieval English history,” I said. “Actually, he’s on sabbatical right now for the semester. He went to England.”
“Oh. That’s cool.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You ever been? To England?”
“No.” I frowned. “Maybe I should’ve gone to England instead of coming here. Guess I’m not thinking straight. Not after . . .”
“After what?” he prodded when I hadn’t gone on.
“After I quit my job.” The words leapt from my mouth and hit the air like a truth bomb. “Whew. I said it out loud. Feels weird.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“Why does anyone quit something?”
“You hated it,” he guessed.
I shook my head. “I used to love my job. But then it became the source of everything wrong in my life, you know? So even though I know it was the right thing to do, I’m in full-on panic mode.”
“Ah, explains the babbling,” he teased. His tone was warm, familiar.
I liked it.
“Maybe quitting your job will give you the time and space to figure out what will make you happy.”
“I know what will make me happy.” I reached for the box of chocolates.
“Easy to please,” he stated.
I snorted, my mind immediately going to a double entendre.
“We weren’t supposed to be talking,” I reminded him. “Can we lay off the philosophical discussion of life and the pursuit of happiness?”
“Your wish is my command,” he said as he picked up the remote from the nightstand.
He turned on the TV and then handed me the clicker. I channel-surfed for a few moments and then laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“The Munsters. There’s a marathon.”
