Page 52 of Escape Girl

Bobby’s sleepy singing voice interrupted my grumpy rumination. “Hello, 3:00 a.m., my old friend.”

“How did you know I was awake?” I exclaimed. “I didn’t make a sound.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Your breathing is different. Asleep-Em breathes calm and easy. Awake-Em breathes frustrated and bitchy.”

How he always made me laugh during my insomnia, I had no idea. “Only I could breathe bitchy.”

Bobby snorted. “Sweetheart, you can do everything bitchy.”

A smile blooming, I took the pillow from under my head and whomped him in the face with it.

“Bad idea,” he whooped, sitting up and reaching for his own. “Bad idea, Em.”

He took a swing at my head with it and missed, just grazing my shoulder. I got on my knees and nailed him square in the nose with mine again. “You’re still so terrible at pillow fights,” I informed him, crawling on top of him, pinning him down to take another whack.

“Maybe.” He smirked up at me. “But you’ve forgotten where I excel.” He threw his pillow off the bed and attacked my vulnerable abdomen with wriggling fingers. “Tickling.”

Oh no, oh no. Ihadforgotten! I wassoticklish. Shrieking, I tried to climb off him and escape his pinching, devilish hands, but he held me in place with one while relentlessly tickling mewith the other. My scream-giggles probably woke up all of his neighbors.

He stopped suddenly, sat up, and wrapped his arms around me. Tight. My shrieks faded, and I stilled in his arms. Was it OK for him to hold me like this? Just hold me?

“It’s so good to hear you laugh,” he whispered.

Oh, Bobby.I put my arms around his back and squeezed as tight as I could.

Chapter Sixteen

Iwoke toa room full of sunshine and the sound of a shower running. I sat up slowly, relishing in the fact that I literally could not spend the first five minutes of the day with my face in my phone, reading work emails that would have come in from the partners overnight or doomscrolling through the latest world news.

It was after 8:00 a.m. I’m sure we’d slept later than Bobby intended if he needed to get to work. Not that Jo seemed like the kind of boss who really watched the exact instant her team punched in and out. In the attached bathroom, the water turned off, and my stomach flipped over. The night had been so wonderful. I hadn’t thought through it to this moment. How did I say goodbye to him? I didn’t want to. At all. But sex with Bobby—or hell, loving Bobby—neither had ever been the problem.

“Your clothes are on the chair,” he called.

Of course. He was just so damn thoughtful. Grateful I wouldn’t need to scramble naked down the stairs in search of my pants, I popped out of bed and retrieved my suit. There were a few papers on the desk in the corner that I nosily peeped at. Smiled to myself when I saw that Bobby was filling out a volunteer application to coach kids’ basketball at the local Y.

He emerged from the bathroom in dark jeans and a bright blue button-down that matched his eyes. “Morning.”

“Hey.” Awkwardly holding my folded clothes in front of me like a shield, I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

“Have a shower before you go,” he offered. “I’ve got coffee brewing.”

His tone was casual and disarming. A shower did sound irresistible. Given our, ahem, activities of the night before, I was very disheveled. I didn’t want to start the actual day with wild hair and smelling like Bobby from head to toe. “OK.”

He disappeared down the hall, whistling and with a spring in his step. Bobby was one of those rare people who woke up cheerful.

The water pressure was amazing, and I admired the unusual green tilework along the shower. He used the same bodywash he’d always used. It smelled like eucalyptus, and I lathered it all over me. The rugs on the bathroom floor were so thick and soft, I almost wanted to curl up on one and read a book. His towels were luxurious and hanging on heated towel racks.

Bobby had created such a comfortable home here. It was one of his innate gifts; he made every space better. I wondered if he was considering staying in Chicago for more than a year. Making this place a long-term home.

I paused in the act of dressing as a yearnful pang vibrated in my chest. I’d lived in Seattle for five years and it never felt like home. New York certainly didn’t. San Francisco…well. I wasn’t sure I could ever happily settle there with so many memories on every street. I borrowed one of Bobby’s combs and pulled it through my hair a little harder than necessary. Maybe I would never feel at home anywhere again.

In the bathroom cabinet, I found a hair dryer still in its original box. Bobby always let his hair air-dry, so he must have bought it for guests. I frowned at it. Shouldn’t a hair dryer for guests be in one of the guest bathrooms and not the master?

Some guests will sleep in the master bedroom.Thank you very much, nasty voice in my head. I certainly couldn’t blame Bobby if he did have female overnight company at times. As I untangled the cords and plugged it in, I realized it was the same brand I’d used at home.Maybe, like the teapot, the hair dryer isfor me.The thought took my breath away. I shoved it way down deep.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang and I smiled. Breakfast was Bobby’s favorite meal. All kinds: he loved donuts, bagels, egg sandwiches, breakfast burritos. What had he decided to order this morning?

My hair looked very pretty once I’d dried it. I indulged in a rare moment of vanity in front the mirror, looking at myself in my suit and new/old hair. My reflection lifted my spirits.

---