Page 44 of That Weekend in Paris
“I think I’m ready for bed. Are you tired?”
“I should be,” she says, “but I’m still a little wired from the coffee and the writing. Maybe I’ll take a hot bath. That usually puts me right to sleep. Would you like to brush your teeth or do whatever in the bathroom before I use the bathtub?”
“Brush my teeth, and I’ll be done,” I say.
I go in the bathroom and close the door, reaching for my shave case and pulling out my toothbrush.
I stare at it for a moment, my thoughts hanging on Dillon, and how different she is from Riley. I glance in the mirror and see the truth in my eyes. I had known from the beginning what kind of person Riley was—that she thrived on fame and money and status. And that had never been me. Still wasn’t, and I wonder what had made me think I wanted that in the woman in my life, and why it had taken me so long to figure out that I didn’t.
I think about Dillon again, picture the absolute joy on her face when we unraveled another line of the song and discovered that it worked. It’s been a very long time since I’ve enjoyed doing anything with anyone as much as I enjoyed writing that song with Dillon. And I realize, tossing my toothbrush back into the case, that I don’t want to go to bed yet. I don’t want this night to end.
Klein
“So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.”
?Robert Frost,Birches
WE END UP at the hotel’s indoor swimming pool.
It’s located in the spa, which is open for guests twenty-four hours around the clock. I’m already in the pool waiting for Dillon. She’s in the women’s dressing area, changing.
I swim a couple of laps from one end of the pool to the other, feeling completely wide awake now. Dillon stands at the top of the stairs by the entrance to the pool, dressed in one of the spa’s oversized white robes. She walks down the stairs to stop beside me, looking down with a shy smile.
“You’re lucky I put a bathing suit in my suitcase.”
“I am lucky,” I say, looking up at her with a smile.
She rolls her eyes and says, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I considered not bringing one, but then I always take a bathing suit on any kind of trip just in case there’s time to jump in a pool somewhere.”
“So, jump in,” I say, my tone teasing now.
Her eyes widen a bit, and then she says, “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“You know.”
“What?”
“Flirting,” she says.
“Oh, is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes, I believe it is.”
“So hop in, and I’ll stop.”
“I’m not sure I believe you, but okay.”
She walks over to one of the poolside lounge chairs, slips off the spa slippers, and then unties her robe. I make myself look away. One, because I know she wants me to. Two, because I’m afraid I’m getting myself in trouble here. Even so, I can’t stop myself from looking up when she walks down the stairs.
She deliberately avoids my gaze, dropping quickly into the water and swimming for the far end of the pool. She does two laps back and forth before stopping in the middle, arms wrapped around herself, breathing hard.
“Impressive,” I say. “You swim for exercise?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I try to do five days a week. My knees stopped liking running, so I had to find something that would still get my heart rate up, but not be so hard on the joints. I jog here and there, but mostly when it’s somewhere I want to see.”
