Page 41 of Switching Places

“Oh, did you forget something?”

“No, just wanted to talk.”

“I was in bed.”

“I know. I can see your bedroom from mine. I saw the light go off.”

“You can see the bedroom?”

He almost laughed. For a moment he envisioned her sitting up in outrage and indignation. Probably that flash he was growing familiar with sparked in her eyes.

“Just a bit from my bedroom.”

There was a background rustle. “I don’t see any lights on at your place,” she said.

He leaned back against the headboard and flicked the light out.

“Now we are alone in the dark.”

“Not really. If you could see the kitchen window, you’d see that light on.”

“Why?”

“As far as I know this is the only land line phone in the house.”

“As far as you know?” he asked.

“And I should know, right? Can you actually see into my bedroom?” she asked.

“Why, are you wearing nothing?”

“No, I’m wearing my nightshirt.”

He chuckled at the primness in her tone. “It’s a very nice shirt, fits you so well.”

“It’s big and loose—”

“And soft cotton that clings to your body like a lover.”

“Oh.”

He smiled again, suddenly wishing he’d stayed longer. He’d love to see the confusion in her eyes, the soft shyness that sometimes flared up. The innocence.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m wearing?” he teased.

“Probably nothing,” she murmured.

“Right first time.”

“Oh-hh.” There was background noise again.

“I can’t talk anymore,” she said hastily.

“Why not?”

“I—”

The silence stretched out. Then he heard a soft click.

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