“Extremely weird,” he agrees.
We finish our affogato in something like comfortable silence.
“Tuesday and Thursday,” he says eventually. “Two to four. I’ll be out. The door will be unlocked.” He pauses. “You can come. Be here. Safely.”
“You’re giving me a schedule?”
“I’m giving you permission to stop breaking in at random.” His eyes hold mine. “Though you’re welcome to keep doing it your way if you prefer. The cameras are entertaining.”
The cameras. He’s going to see.
Good.
“And if I want to see you?” I ask. “Not just your house. You.”
“Wednesdays.” His voice drops slightly. “Come Wednesday. I’ll be here.”
He’s giving me days with him and days without. Space to exist in his world however I need to.
“Is there anything you want?” he asks. “Anything that would make this easier. Books. Music. Specific food. I’ll make sure it’s here.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“Okay.” He stands. Takes our glasses to the sink. “You should probably go before it gets late. Long drive.”
Right. The drive. Back to being Beth.
I slide off the stool. His shirt swishes against my thighs.
“You can keep that,” he says, noticing. “The shirt. If you want.”
I look down at myself. At his clothes on my body.
“My shirt’s upstairs.”
“I’ll keep it then.” He steps a fraction closer. Doesn’t touch me, but Ifeelit. “Fair trade,” he says. “You walk around wrapped in me. I keep a piece of you upstairs.”
My breath goes sideways. That’s not innuendo. That’s a fucking spell.
I head toward the door. He follows. Keeping distance but staying close.
At the front door, I pause. Turn back.
He’s standing a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Looking at me like I’m something he can’t quite figure out but wants to.
“Wednesday,” I say.
“Wednesday,” he confirms.
“I’ll be here.”
“I know.”
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do.
One step. Then another.
He’s in front of me. So close I can feel the heat coming off his skin, smell the espresso on his breath, the cologne still clinging to his shirt, my shirt now.
