Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“So this is your place,” Adam says three hours later.
We’re chilled to the bone. After we left Liss’s bakery, we made our way to the riverfront, window shopped along Michigan Avenue. Browsed booths at the Christmas Market tucked along the borders of Millennium Park. The same way he had on the drive into the city, he kept my fingers tucked inside his palm, always more concerned about my warmth than his own.
We talked about anything and everything—our favorite movies, concerts, other random thoughts that popped into our heads and demanded attention.
“I got mugged for the first time on this corner,” I noted.
That stopped him short. “The first time?”
“Relax.” I patted his chest. “I got an interview out of it, at least.”
“You interviewed your mugger.”
“Don’t be silly. I interviewed the policeman who took my statement. Made him stand down in the station so it still counted.”
We were at a crosswalk then, and he turned his entire body toward mine. “I’m both unsurprised and completely surprised by how your brain works.”
“I take that as a compliment,” I said, flashing back to that first morning. If I was infuriating then, I can’t imagine what he thinks of me now.
He licked his reddened, wind-burnt lips. “Maybe I meant it as one.”
The light changed, and we entered the street.
“What’s next for you?” he said. “With your podcast. After Forget Me Not is over, I mean. Do you want to expand your network?”
“I think so. Chicago is amazing, but I’d love to do miniseries in different places. London, definitely.”
He grinned. “ Elle on the Underground. ”
“Exactly.” I grinned back.
“You can do all the major cities with underground transportation.”
“New York, DC …” I quirked my chin. “Are there that many more?”
“No,” he admitted. Leaned in to kiss the tip of my nose. “You could do the bullet train in Japan.”
“Those would be short episodes.” I pecked his jaw in return, and his eyes flashed black.
We ducked into a caf é , got lattes to warm our bellies and fingers, and headed back toward his car. I’d lost track of how many blocks we’d walked. My feet ached in the best way.
“What about you?” I said. A drop of coffee slipped from his lip, and he caught it with his tongue. Oh, that talented tongue. “Do you always want to work for AngelCare? Is it your forever job?”
“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I love what I do, don’t get me wrong. But it’s …”
“What is ‘boring’? ‘Repetitive’? ‘Mind-numbing’?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, throwing on a Ken Jennings impression. “The phrase we were looking for there was ‘emotionally taxing.’ ”
I pushed my shoulder into his and laughed unbidden, and he did too. I liked that feeling, one only we could understand.
Now we’re standing in my apartment, dusty after so long undisturbed. The plant in my windowsill is yellowed and drooping.
It’s home still, but it’s different too. Things I’ve never noticed, I see with new eyes simply because Adam is seeing them too.
The mosaic contact paper I stuck to the kitchen window, casting rainbow fractals across the granite. The art prints in frames hanging above the gold velvet armchairs I wrestled upstairs the day I moved in, won in the furniture custody agreement with Grady. The geometric wallpaper behind the television. In the bathroom off the hall, a shower curtain with hand-drawn moons and stars. If we ventured into my bedroom, he’d see an unmade bed, rumpled pinstripe sheets underneath a purple duvet.
I didn’t get to have a space like this with Grady, something so me I see myself in all directions. I didn’t buy new artwork without asking him where we should hang it. Now I buy something simply because I love it and figure out later where it belongs.
Before I left to stay with Lovie, I’d been contemplating changing everything up, having grown sick of the visual noise. But this is me. A perfect mess. Bold. Unapologetic.
I nod, smiling. “This is my place.”
Adam runs his fingers through the tassel of my favorite throw pillow. “It fits you perfectly.”
“We won’t stay long.” I’m already moving toward my room. “Just let me grab a bag.”
“Take your time.” Adam lowers himself onto the royal-blue sofa, taking care not to disturb the pillows. Like they’re living beings.
He’s in almost the same position when I return with a tote bag stuffed full of lighter clothing, heavier socks, and silkier underthings.
He takes my bag while I arm the security system. Holds the door open for me again. Waits for me to be finished with the stairs before moving toward the street exit door. Swoon. Swoon. Swoon.
Our phones begin buzzing simultaneously, incessantly. I’m expecting an Amber Alert, but what greets me is an unfamiliar message.
“What the hell is a snow squall?” I ask, squinting at my phone.
Adam pushes open the door to the street, but howling wind rips it from his grasp. Frigid air rushes in, swirls my hair around me, pulls at my hood and steals my sight. He yells something, but the wind yells louder.
The hallway goes quiet, giving a vacuum effect. The silence is too loud.
“ That ,” Adam says, both hands still on the door handle he tugged closed, “is a snow squall.”
My heart thuds, and for a few seconds we’re frozen as a thick wall of white falls outside. The general shape of his car is visible on the curb, but not the color.
“Can you drive in snow squalls?”
It’s quiet enough that I hear him swallow. “In theory, yes, but it’s not recommended. Me, personally? I wouldn’t chance it. You? Never. No way.”
This shouldn’t be a big deal, but the mild sense of panic building in my lungs says otherwise.
“Just wait here,” I say, determination straightening my spine. “I’m gonna see how slick it is.”
“Elle, please don’t—”
I open the door, and once again the wind wrenches it away, stealing my control. But still. This is the Windy City, after all. I’ve trained for this.
These boots have enough traction that I’m comfortable testing out the sidewalk. City Works is usually pretty good about salting. They really hate lawsuits for some reason.
I take a tentative step, then another. So far, so good.
“Adam,” I call, “this is fine. We’ll be—”
My feet slip out from under me, one going south while the other continues northeast. I land so hard on my butt my jaw snaps closed. I almost bite off the tip of my tongue.
Through the thick snow, I barely make out Adam shuffling his way to me. By the time he’s close enough to extend a hand, I’ve gathered most of my dignity.
His mouth moves, but I can’t hear anything over the wind. My cheeks burn, raw, and my eyelashes are sticking together. I couldn’t unlock my jaw if I wanted to.
Instead of waiting for an answer, Adam scuffles his feet to the side door, and I follow suit, up four flights of stairs, back into my apartment. After turning off the alarm again, I point Adam toward the thermostat, and he cranks it up a few degrees.
Then come the adulting parts of an unexpected snowstorm. Checking the weather—it’s supposed to remain unchanged for the next several hours. Calling Angie—she’s worried for us, but we assure her we’re safe and sound. Adam takes several minutes to talk her through where to find more detailed instructions. The list of all Lovie’s medications, her usual schedule, the alarm code, and the other shit we’ve been inundated with for the last two months.
I slip off my boots by the couch, collapsing into a pile of throw pillows. “When should we talk about the irony that when we were expecting snow, it didn’t snow, and when we weren’t, it does this outside?”
Adam chuckles, slipping off his own shoes and lining them up next to mine. If my clutter bothers him, he doesn’t let it show. “Maybe after we talk about what happens next.”
What happens next?
I’ve always thought when you Define the Relationship, you’re supposed to have an escape route in case things don’t work out in your favor. I’m equal parts thrilled and terrified neither of us can run away if this gets too messy. But didn’t Adam just say last night he wasn’t asking for any long-term commitments? He wants my nows. Just my todays.
“I imagine we’ll have to stay here tonight,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my delight. “The food situation might be a little dire, but I probably have a freezer-burnt pint of Ben it’s just the truth.
I gnaw my lip. “You might be right.”
His gentle laugh somehow still manages to shake my mainframe. “Two times in one minute? Could you say that again, but louder and into the microphone, please?” He mimes holding up a mic to my mouth.
I shove his hand away, reaching for the remote. “Adam, are you ready to Netflix and chill with me?”