Page 117 of Enzo

She lifts her glass and downs her drink in one go. “I needed that. I feel rejuvenated.”

She's never not rejuvenated.

I used to think a well-ordered life was a peaceful life, with everything in its place and everything in order. But seeing Molly in her apartment, navigating around the space as if everything belongs exactly where it is, I wonder if I've mistaken quiet for happiness.

“It’s two in the morning. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m still on spring break.” She pauses. “I expect it will be business as usual for you?”

All thoughts about work disappeared from my mind hours ago. Tomorrow hasn’t crossed my mind either.

The only thing that has is knowing that I’ll wake up in Molly’s apartment, and that’s something I never saw coming. She looks flustered, one arm across her belly, the other crossed over it. She cups her jaw, looking thoughtful. “I only have this one couch.”

I look at the couch.

It’s small.

“It will be fine,” I tell her.

But it isn’t fine.

Hours pass and I can’t sleep. My feet hang over the armrest, and I’ve been tossing. Not turning. Just tossing and moving around. It’s uncomfortable when I turn on my side. I mostly lie on my back. Though ‘lie’ doesn’t accurately describe it. Torture would be a more apt word.

And I can Molly in the bedroom.

This apartment is small and cramped, and I can hear her walking around. Is she unpacking at this time?

I hear the doors cranking in the flat below me.

My feet hang over the armrest. My neck already hurts. Somewhere nearby, a door slams and pipes groan through the wall.

I should hate this.

Instead, lying cramped and uncomfortable on Molly's tiny couch, listening to her move around in the bedroom, I’m strangely content.

And I don't understand why.

Chapter 31

MOLLY

I walk into my living room to find Enzo on the floor.

He’s lying on his side. He's taken the seat cushions and lying on them on the floor, only most of his body is on the two cushions, and his legs are on the floor.

I wince. He looks awkward. And that looks painful, but he’s clearly fast asleep. I knew the couch was too small. I knew it.

I decide not to wake him so I go and take a quick shower instead and hope that by the time I come out he's awake.

As I linger under the tiny little shower, I miss the big sunken bath and the lotions and salts in the penthouse. I miss the vast space and luxury of that place. I loved taking my baths there.

But now I’m worried about what Enzo will make of this.

My water pressure is weak, and this shower cubical is cramped.

I shiver in embarrassment.

We are from such different worlds.