machine in the guest room.
I use it when I can’t sleep there.
Thanks, but I can’t sleep no matter what. Life as a CI doesn’t lend itself to deep, sweet dreams.
I’m sorry. Does anything help?
Sleeping pills, but those are dangerous when you might need to wake up on a moment’s notice.
What about a hot bath?
Already did it.
Warm milk?
I’m not a cat.
Umm … lullaby?
Sure. Wanna sing me one? Oh! Even better, play me one on your cello?
I don’t have it with me, sorry.
Are you still at the station?
Unfortunately. I might just crash here.
I thought of textingplenty of room in this bed, but the half joke would not land on screen like it would in person. And honestly, it wasn’t a joke. I would have loved to feel the warmth of his body next to mine. Holding me like he had on the balcony.
I chased the impossible thoughts away with a reminder of what was to come.
Have you made progress for tomorrow?
Yes. Still some work to do, but I’m talking to the right people now.
Does that mean some underground prison network that trades in favors?
That’s classified.
Always so noble.
I’m a hero, remember?
Ugh. Don’t let it go to your head.
Too late?
I’d missed his smiley faces. Things had gotten too dark in the past twenty-four hours. Our conversation paused, and I found myself surprised when my phone began to buzz with an incoming call and his name on the screen.
“Are you really going to sing to me?” I asked when I answered.
“Why are you really up right now?” His voice was bedroom soft. Tender.
“I told you: It’s too quiet here to sleep.”
“Erin.”
The slight admonishment both warmed me that he cared enough to ask, and made me feel guilty for not telling him the truth. I sighed and a wall came down with it.
