“Only about you.” His lips met mine for one more kiss. This one was long, slow, and full of promise of what was to come. Finally, he pulled away. “See you later, babe.”
He left the room, and I heard the door to my apartment open and close. I uncrossed my arms and pressed a palm against either side of my face and rubbed upward. I was in way too deep. I leaned over to snag a T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. It was one of mine, but I wished it were Simon’s. I wanted his woodsy scent surrounding me.
Apparently I now had two tasks for the day: first, flex my code-breaking muscles; and second, find a damn dress.
I stripped off the dress and threw it on the bed.
“I can’t do this,” I said to the empty room. I wished Huck were pacing around my tiny apartment so I didn’t feel like I was talking to myself. But he was downstairs in his crate in Harriet’s guestroom. I’d spent most of the day down there with him, the composition book, and a stack of library books. I’d officially made zero progress. I’d started cycling though the alphabet in the hopes that it was a basic substitution cipher, but it was a painstaking process.
And while my code cracking was going horribly, at least Huck was doing amazingly well. Dr. Richelieu hadn’t lied about the plate in his leg easing his recovery. He might’ve looked a bit like a hobbled horse when he padded around with his weight unequally distributed, but I was so damn glad to see him on the mend.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 6:49. I paced my room, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Calm, I thought. You can do this.
“I can’t do this.” I flopped onto my bed beside the dress and stared out the skylight to the blue and white expanse above. My thoughts wandered back to this morning. Lying on the bed, watching Simon as he stared me down with desire … and something else. I’d never wanted anyone more, and I’d never deserved anyone less. Was I going to humor his simple—albeit caveman-like—request?
What if he took me to some fancy Michelin Star restaurant? With the impression I’d given him so far, Simon would probably think my nerves stemmed from not knowing which fork to use. Little did he know that if I was so inclined, I could out-etiquette him any day. The girl who used to dine regularly at Per Se might’ve been buried, but she was still in there. Somewhere. But letting any hint of her out could put everything I’d built at risk. As it stood, my life might not be much, but it was mine. I looked over at the mini-dress and fingered the deep purple cotton voile. I pictured myself wearing it, walking hand-in-hand through the streets with Simon. I wanted that.
The rationalizations started to filter in: we weren’t in New York or L.A., Simon wasn’t a celebrity followed by the paparazzi, and unless he was at a public event, it was unlikely that his presence would attract attention.
“I can do this.”
I adjusted my strapless bra and matching black, lacy boy shorts and slipped on the dress. My hair hung in huge spiral curls I’d spent the last hour perfecting. Not that I would admit that little detail. I added dangling black and silver chain earrings that almost brushed my shoulders. They gave the outfit just enough ‘Charlie’ flare to make it acceptable. I slipped on a pair of vintage red leather peep-toe platforms Yve had let me borrow out of the inventory at the Dirty Dog and fastened the straps around my ankles. A check in the mirror, another dab of red lip stain, and I was ready. Which was damn good timing on my part because the intercom—which I’d reconnected—buzzed.
I crossed the room and pushed the button. “I’ll be right down.”
“Can’t wait, babe.”
Simon let out a wolf whistle as I strode, hips swinging, toward the gate. If I was going to wear this outfit, I was going to own it.
“Dayum, woman.” He slapped a hand over his chest. His white linen shirt was light and airy, and his slacks were much more casual than I’d anticipated. “Step out here so I can see you.” Simon moved away as I walked out onto the sidewalk. I spun, giving it a little extra oomph, and the skirt of my dress flared. When I stopped my impromptu twirl, I couldn’t hold back a ridiculous giggle as I smiled up at Simon.
I expected to see his answering grin, but his expression was serious, almost … solemn. I looked down at my dress. “What?” I asked, confused the abrupt change in his mood.
He shook his head and reached out a hand to trail a finger down my jaw line. “That. That right there. I want to put that smile on your face every day, for as long as you’ll let me.”
I sucked in a breath and leaned in to his touch. My first instinct was to make some smartass remark to defuse the emotions bubbling up inside me. They were on the verge of spilling out onto the cracked sidewalk at Simon’s feet. But I held them down and focused on soaking up this moment. I gift wrapped it and tucked it deep inside so I could take it out later and relive it.
Relive it after I lost him.
Because reality was scraping away at the happiness I was just discovering. The more time I spent studying that damn composition book—the book of lies and ruin—the more I accepted the fact I’d never make it out of this unscathed. I was naïve to think I could escape my past. Losing Simon would be my penance. And when that happened, memories of moments like this would be all I had left.
I opened my eyes, determined to live in the now and not worry about the future. At least not for tonight.
I pulled myself together and asked, “So, where to?”
“You want me to answer that question when all I can think is ‘This woman is a goddess, and I can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard who gets to take her out’?”