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“Me either,” I say. “Not since he died. I just—I can’t.”
“What if we went together? A way to bring your father to me, since I can’t meet him.”
If the man is trying to make me fall more in love with him, it’s working. “I’d like that,” I say, my eyes burning, emotions expanding in my chest. “Very much.”
“Well then, it’s Friday night. Why don’t we make it a Saturday night date?”
“I’d like that very much,” I repeat, hoping it can happen. “But Eric, we’re living in hell right now. Don’t we need to deal with that hell?”
“We do. We will. In fact, right now,” he stands and pulls me to my feet, “I’m going to put you in a hot bath and do some thinking while you’re relaxing.”
A few minutes later, we’re in the bathroom where a luxurious bubble bath has been created with floral-scented bubbles we purchased while shopping. “This tub has never been used,” he says, as I settle into the sunken egg-shaped sensation filled with warm water and he sets my newly filled wine glass next to me.
“Join me,” I suggest. “Come try out your own tub.”
“Ourtub, baby,” he says, sitting on the edge next to me. “And you just enjoy the bath. My head is clear for the first time in twenty-four hours. I’m going to put that empty space to use.”
“That space that is your head is never empty, but I get it. Go. Do. Be the savant. I hope you find answers.”
“Me, too, baby. Me, too.”
The “baby” endearment is back. He doesn’t use it often, but I wonder if it’s during the times when he’s most relaxed. The idea pleases me as I don’t think he’s had many of those moments in life, moments I equate to peace, which I would very like to deliver to him.
He stands and walks toward the door, and I sink into the bubbles, relaxed and happy, but I’m aware of the problems we have hidden from, the way they lurk just beyond the present. Eric does, too. It’s why he’s not with me right now. I cut my bath short and dry off, pulling on a pink silk gown Eric picked out today, and a matching robe. With my feet in slippers, I walk into the dark bedroom and go still.
Even before I see him, I feel Eric in the room. My eyes reach to the corner of the room, where he sits in an oversized chair, and I am certain there’s a Rubik’s cube in his hand. He’s back in the real world now, strategizing his next move,ournext move, but I believe it’s more than that. I believe the numbers torment him, and keep him up at night.
I cross the room and curl up next to him. “How often do you stay up all night?”
“Too often.”
“Right here in this chair.”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I’ll be sleeping here often.”
He sits there for several silent beats and then reaches behind him, grabs a blanket and pulls it over me. I smile. He likes that I’m with him. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Chapter one hundred eleven
Harper
The next morning, I wake to the buzzing of an alarm, immediately aware of Eric’s hard body next to mine, of me still pressed to his side. He shifts and reaches for his phone and silences the noise. “Damn,” he murmurs, sitting up straighter. “I fell asleep.” He sounds befuddled by this information, but I am pleased. My brilliant, amazing, gifted man is too troubled, and I can only hope I allow him some calm in his mind. Because no one else will. His phone is already blowing up with text messages, which tells me his silent mode goes off with his alarm. “And, of course,” he says, “I have about twenty text messages.”
“I’ll put on the coffee.” I kiss him and when I would stand, he captures my hand and stills the action, running his fingers through my tousled hair, tenderness in the action that steals my breath.
“I don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs softly.
It occurs to me that he might actually feel I disrupted his process of problem solving. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“Life is better with you in it,” he declares, his finger tracing my jawline.
Warmth spreads through me with those words, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel as if I’m where I belong. “Eric,” I begin, but his phone begins to ring, and he grits his teeth. “I need to find out what is going on.”
I nod, kiss him on the cheek, and then whisper in his ear, “I love you,” before darting away, feeling as if sunshine is on my shoulder.
With my phone in hand, I hurry downstairs, get the coffee started, and then check my messages, only to note a missed call from yet another unknown caller. It has to be Gigi, but there is novoicemail. In other words, Walker will already be aware of the call, and there is nothing I can do at this point that matters aside from wait for the caller to try me again.
