Page 37 of No Place Like You

“Bye.”

“Bah-yeee!”

19

Lucy

“Ohmigod?!I can’t believe that happened!”

I nod, my attention on adjusting the height to the softbox reflector to angle it toward the stark white backdrop while Elaine places the last of the camera lenses neatly organized on a foldable table and rushes to my side. “Yeah, it was pretty awful.”

“So where are you staying?”

“A friend’s,” I answer meekly. “He, um, offered his spare room, so…” I just finished telling her the whirlwind of the weekend I had while she got lost on an impromptu trip to Washington Square Park.

“I can’t believe you went through all of that,” she sort of mumbles under her breath. She turns to face me. “You must have been so scared.”

“Um, yeah…” I look up at her with a smile through the tightness lodged in my throat.

I’ve been trying to retrace the last forty-eight hours. The highs and lows. The expected and unexpected. The absolute last thing I thought I’d add on the list was “move in with Dexter.” I would’ve expected a trip to the moonbefore that happened. Everything feels so…chaotic. Just when I caught a whiff—a minute resemblance—of decorum in my life, I feel like it’s been snatched away from me.

How did I end uphere? Robbed of my valuables, essentially homeless, and shacking up with an old…fling. Maybe I should just call my sisters. Maybe they’ll be able to replace some of the calm that’s gone wayward. But every time I eventhinkabout picking up my phone to call them or even taking a cab over to their apartments, my insides feel like they’re going to flip inside out and teeny-tiny bubbles of anxiety start to pop inside of me. And now I’m reeling from this completely random and unwarranted attraction I have toward Dexter. I mean, I guess it’s notcompletelyunwarranted, considering we have history, but why did a spike of unease spear through my stomach when I thought he was talking to somegirlyesterday? And why did it feel like a complete burst of relief when he told me it was his sister?

“You know, this shit wouldn’t have happened in San Diego,” Elaine fusses, jutting her index finger at me as she walks back to the table. “I can’t wait for this to be over so I can go home. I miss the damn beach. And my car. Also, I think I sat in pee this morning on the subway.”

I grimace just as my phone buzzes in my back pocket. When I look at the screen, I see a new message from Dexter. An image of him, his now empty Starbucks cup held up to his face, and a bright, cheesy smile fills the screen.

Dexter: I think I can outrun a cheetah with the amount of caffeine running through me.

My wide grin matches his, and my insides melt a little. Okay, a lot.

I feel like I’m seeing his face in a completely new light, finding more things that make him cute and handsome and quite honestly, irresistible. Like the shadow from his Adam’s apple somehow making him lookmasculine and strong. Or the way one eye squints more than the other, and it makes him look playful and flirty. And, of course, there’s that little mole next to his eye that shifts into the small crinkles fanning out through his adorable smiles. I’ve been adding to the mental list of things I’ve started to find attractive in men. Bare feet, teeny-tiny moles, and now, Adam’s apples. Or maybe it’s just those things on Dexter that I find attractive.

Me: I’ll pick up a cheetah on the way home if you make sure to buy a stopwatch.

Dexter: And a checkered flag.

Me: Can’t forget the checkered flag.

Home. HomewithDexter.

I didn’t realize it when I typed out the single four-letter word, but there’s so much weight to it. All of it filled with promise and comfort. I could get used to this. This feeling of security and something safe and easy.

In just two days, I’ve learned what it’s like to coexist with someone. It isn’t like this with Annabelle. We have our own lives, and we do our own things. Annabelle goes out for drinks after work with her lawyer friends. She spends two evenings a week with Alma at their uncle’s house, where she brings back large Tupperware containers full ofpupusas. I usually go to bed by ten after dozing on the couch for about an hour so I can wake up to start my early morning shift at Mr. Bean’s.

But it’s not like that with Dexter. He includes me in something as simple as doing the dishes or deciding how many episodes ofSupernaturalwe can squeeze in before bedtime. He waited for me in the morning before walking out the door so we could leave together, and something tells me he’s going to do the same tomorrow morning. I could get used to this, having someoneto coexist with. Someone who would wait for me to make plans for the night. To split a sausage pizza or a large order of pad thai with.

No.Ican’tget used to this. Because this is absolutely temporary. Those dark, imaginary red lines I’ve been drawing through each passing week have been a comforting reminder that my flight back home is going to happen much sooner than later. I can’t wait to go home. Myactualhome. I can’t wait to snuggle up with Jeremy and tell Annabelle how delusional she was with her screwball suggestions to hook up with Dexter again. At the end of all this, I’ll hop on my flight without even a second glance. Just like I planned.

Dexter: Can’t wait. I’ll see you at home, Lucy.

And there go those red lines, drawn with a lighter hand and reluctance. Maybe one last glance before I leave. One last look back to see what I’m leaving behind. Just so I can see Dexter waving at me from the steps of his apartment building.

“Lucy?”

I look up to see Ryan hovering over the table Elaine was organizing, his expectant face eyeing the setup I was doing for today’s shoot.

“Kyle wanted to go over the pictures from the shoot on Saturday. The ones he asked you to have ready.”

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