“Then I’m glad I said it.”
The afternoon passed quietly.
At one, Noah finished his tasks and prepared to go upstairs.
Before leaving, he leaned close.
“I’m going to continue my research.”
“Medical?”
“No.”
Understanding arrived.
“Drink water.”
“That may be the least seductive response possible.”
“Take your medication on time.”
“Worse.”
“Call me if you need help.”
His eyes darkened.
“I’m counting on it.”
He kissed the corner of my mouth and left.
My concentration deteriorated almost immediately.
The internet contained more erotic material than any recovering man with an active imagination needed while alone in an apartment.
I told myself he would probably fall asleep.
At three, I checked my phone.
Nothing.
At four, I checked again.
Still nothing.
By closing time, I had imagined every possibility from a sudden migraine to a fall in the bathroom to Noah discovering some elaborate category of pornography that made our entire history look conservative.
Caleb watched me lock the bay seven minutes early.
“Go upstairs.”
“I’m not—”
“You’ve spent an hour staring through the ceiling.”
Owen pulled on his coat.
“Tell Noah his independent-study proposal has been approved.”
