“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“After tonight-”
“Elida.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “We can talk about it in the morning. Okay? Just… let me stay here tonight.”
She nods, her cheek against my chest, and I pull the blanket over us both.
ELIDA
I wake before dawn.
He’s asleep beside me, his arm heavy across my waist, his breathing deep and even. I watch him for a minute - the dark sweep of his lashes, the slight parting of his lips, the way his hand curls toward me even in sleep like he’s holding onto something.
I should wake him and kick him out before anyone wakes up and notices he’s not there. That’s the sensible thing. That’s the professional thing. That’s what I promised myself I would do.
Instead, I lie there, memorizing him.
When his eyes open, I don’t look away.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Some.”
He pulls me closer, and I go willingly, my body slotting against his like it belongs there. His hand traces idle patterns on my back, and I close my eyes and let myself pretend, for a minute, that this is simple.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He checks his phone. “Seven forty.”
“Bus is at nine.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
“Last night-” I start.
“Was good,” he says simply. Not pressuring it. Not making it into something that needs resolving at seven forty in a Marriott in Ridgewood.
There are footsteps in the corridor outside - loud, multiple, voices I recognize, Barrett’s laugh carries through the door like a foghorn and we both freeze.
The footsteps pass.
We exhale at exactly the same moment.
Then we’re both laughing, quietly, faces close.
“You should go.”
He looks at me for a moment. Like he wants to say something and is deciding whether to.
“Okay,” he says.
