Page 138 of On His Mind

I reach for my phone to check the time, and his name is already sitting on the screen, waiting for me.

Percy:Tonight?

I look at that one word until it goes soft at the edges. Then I put the phone face down on my chest and let myself smile up at the ceiling. I didn’t dream him. He was here. And now it starts coming back to me in pieces. The parfait. The couch. His voice in the dark, telling me I’d never have to miss him again.

By the time I get out of the shower, the fog’s burned off, and my head belongs to me again, and I remember all of it. Every piece. The morning grogginess had smeared it into something dreamlike, but it happened. He held me on that couch, and he kissed me.

I pick up my phone with wet hands.

Me:Yes.

Then I walk into my bedroom in nothing but a towel and drink down every drop of the water he left me, and I try not to think too hard about what it means that he’s coming tonight.

He texts again at three in the afternoon while I’m at my drafting table.

Percy:Outside.

I’m at the window before my brain has caught up with my feet, and there he is on the sidewalk in the full light of day, hands shoved in his pockets, looking up. My pulse does something complicated and undignified. He never comes in daylight. He never comes anywhere someone could see. I’m flying down the stairs to meet him.

“Hi,” I breathe when I pull the door open.

His whole face opens into a smile. “Hey.”

We ride the elevator up in silence, close but not touching, and the silence has a hum inside it. In the apartment, I shut the door and turn the lock, and he walks to the middle of the room like a man who isn’t sure he’s allowed to sit down.

“Why are you here in broad daylight, Percy?”

“Do you remember last night?” he asks, glancing around like the answer might be somewhere in the room.

I take two steps toward him. “I didn’t, at first.” I pause. “But yes. I remember all of it.”

He nods and rests his hands on his hips. “Good. Okay.”

“Okay?” I close the rest of the distance. “What’s going on with you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have long. A few hours, maybe.”

“Do the guys track your every movement?” I tease.

“I sit at the table and read. Same spot, every day. I’m easy to notice when I’m not there.” He exhales. “Trust me. They’d notice.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

His eyes drop to my mouth. “What?”

I walk toward him and say it again, slower. “What are you waiting for?”

He wets his lips, looking down at me from all that height, and then he smiles — that rare, real one he doesn’t hand out to just anybody.

“I thought we agreed we miss each other.” I reach for him.

He breathes in like he’s bracing for something.

“I want you to practice something,” I say.

“Practice what?”

I look at his broad shoulders and whisper, “Practice going after what you want.”