Page 73 of In It to Win It

She has a boyfriend.My gut burns.

She sits up and leans over to tidy up all the stuff on the table.

“What were you doing?” I ask. “Arts and crafts?”

Her lips twitch. “No. I made a vocabulary game. For my kids.”

Her kids. That’s so cute. “Cool.” I want to know more about what she does. She fascinates me. “What do you do with it?”

She shows me the folder where she’s glued pictures of different things . . . an apple, a car, a ghost, an umbrella. “I can do a lot of different things with this. Simple things like asking the child to point to the apple . . .” She touches her finger to the apple. “Or more complex instructions, like point to the apple, then the banana. Or I can ask them, ‘What do you do with an umbrella?’ to get them talking about it. Or, ‘Categorize all the things you eat . . . apple, banana, sandwich.’”

“That’s how you improve their speech?”

“Right. Depending on what the child’s needs are.” She puts the folder into a leather messenger bag and begins shoving in the other things she used as well. Then she grabs her water bottle and the empty cashew bag and carries it all to the kitchen.

I follow at a safe distance.

“Come here, Byron!” She pats her thigh.

Byron jumps up and trots over to her. She bends down to kiss him right between the eyes and rub his back. “’Bye, buddy. I’ll see you soon.”

She straightens and meets my eyes. “He seems to be doing fine.”

We’ve communicated through texts about him. “I told you he’s fine.” Then I pause. “But I know he misses you.” I don’t want her to think Byron’s forgotten her.

She smiles. “I miss him too. Sorry for not getting out of here sooner.” She grimaces. “Good game, by the way.” Her eyebrows pull down. “Are you okay after taking that shot?”

Shedidwatch the game. “I’m fine.” I shrug. “A little sore here and there.” That’s putting it mildly. “I’m gonna jump in the tub and let the hot water soothe all my bruises and bumps and sore muscles.” The jetted tub was the first thing I had installed after I bought this place and I love it.

She bites her lip. “Sounds like you’re hurting.”

“I’ll be okay. Nothing broken.”

“So you’re off to Canada tomorrow?”

“Montréal and Toronto. Then Chicago. Back late Wednesday night. Or early Thursday. Which is Thanksgiving.”

“Right.” She nods. “I’ll come see Byron every day.”

“You can stay here if you want.” This is the first long road trip we’ve had since Byron moved in. “There’s a guest bedroom. Help yourself to anything you need.”

Her eyes widen and her expression turns thoughtful. “Oh. Okay. I might do that.”

“I was going to text you and suggest it, but since you’re here . . .”

“You’re sure you don’t mind a stranger living in your place?”

“You’re hardly a stranger.” Jesus.

Her cheeks get pink. We’re both remembering that we’ve been pretty damn intimate, for strangers. She doesn’t feel like a stranger.

“We’re friends,” I add. “Right?”

“Right.” She gives a firm nod. “Okay, I’m out. Good luck on your road trip.”

“Thanks. But I’ll walk you to your car.”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s safe here. I think.”

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