Chapter 18

When Saoirse wakes, she is unsure of where she is until she sees Emmit’s serene, sleeping face on the pillow beside her, realizes the artificial light from across the street has been replaced by sunlight. She has a moment of panic; everything is too bright, too stark, and she’s painfully thirsty. After a stumbling lunge to draw the curtains, and a shaky trip to the bathroom for a glass of water, she returns to the bed, though the panic refuses to dissipate. When he wakes, will the dream of the night before be ruined? Will he be regretful? Was she a conquest, now complete? Or worse yet, a mistake to be forgotten?

Emmit stirs and opens his eyes. He appears to experience none of the disorientation or fear she did upon waking. Rather, his gaze jumps from the empty pillow next to him to where Saoirse sits at the edge of the bed and, once he’s found her, he smiles contentedly.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

He reaches for her, pulls her into him, and she falls into the cocoon of his arms. She refrains from asking him if he wants coffee, asking him how soon he needs to leave to rebook his flight to Baltimore. If this is the last time she will lie with him, she wants to enjoy it.

But then he is kissing her neck, his arms slipping down her body, and they are tangled up in a re-creation of the night before. It no longer seems like morning, but rather as if the night has reclaimed them: the clock has stopped ticking, and the patterns of light on the floor do not move because the sun never changes position in the sky.

When they are done, he leans over her, smooths her hair away from her face. “Should I go out to get us some tea?” he asks.

She props herself up against the pillows. “Don’t you have to make arrangements to get back to Baltimore?”

He sits up as well and pulls her closer. “I haven’t missed a day of work at Johns Hopkins since I started teaching there.” He fake-coughs into his hand. “But after three long years, I think COVID finally caught up with me.” He smiles and winks at her. “I’ll call the department head later today and tell him.”

She studies his face, not sure if he’s serious, too afraid to get her hopes up if he isn’t. “Can you do that?”

He laughs. “Of course I can do that. But more importantly, I want to do that.” He kisses her hard. “What were you planning on getting up to today, Miss White?”

What had she planned to do today? She has no idea. She can’t really remember anything before the moment, after she read her poem, when Emmit pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Laundry was likely on the agenda, as was another session of job hunting. How exciting.

I was going to spend time with Pluto, she thinks guiltily, relieved she’d had the wherewithal to text Lucretia when they’d left the restaurant and ask if she minded spending the night at her house—after shooting out an I’m fine, love you , in response to her mother’s string of messages checking in on her. Lucretia had texted back that it wasn’t a problem, and she would head to Saoirse’s place right away, but Saoirse dreads having to come clean about what her “emergency” had really been. She still can’t believe she allowed herself to get so drunk.

“Nothing in particular,” Saoirse says to Emmit, because he’s waiting for her answer. “I should get home soon, though. I told you I adopted a cat, remember?”

“Of course I remember. And I totally understand.” He rubs his chin. “I mean ...,” he starts but trails off.

“What?”

“I don’t want to impose or be like the people you mentioned last night, staking out your famous house, but if you did want to spend time together today, I’d be happy to come to your place. You know, make sure Pluto’s okay.”

Saoirse raises an eyebrow. “You’re worried about Pluto.”

“Of course,” he says. “This has nothing to do with wanting to spend as much time with you as possible. I want to ensure Pluto is settling in, that he knows you haven’t abandoned him. It’s not that I want to follow you to your place of residence. Where you live. Where your bedroom—and, it stands to reason, your bed—is.”

He buries his face in her chest, and she laughs, then lifts his chin. “I am on board with the idea of you coming back to the house with me. Oh, and with tea,” she adds. She’s not sure it’s the best idea after last night, but it might seem weird if she turned him down, and she doesn’t want to get into why she shouldn’t have caffeine after so much alcohol. Plus, she is hungover. Once she gets home, it’ll be nothing but lots of water and low-sodium food. And her medication, of course. She must stay consistent with that.

Emmit lets out a delighted whoop before kissing her, then disentangles himself from the sheets. He motions for her to follow him to the bathroom, where he starts the shower. The water clears some of the fuzziness from her head, and she stays in even after Emmit steps out from under the steaming spray. When she finally emerges from the bathroom, there are two to-go cups on the dresser.

“I got you a chai with oat milk,” he says. “I didn’t know if I could assume your caffeine habits from a single order at Carr Haus, but I took a chance.”

“You assumed correctly,” she says and takes a small sip. “Thank you.” She finishes dressing, surprised it’s not more awkward than it is to be naked in front of him. For a moment, as they’re leaving the hotel room, Saoirse feels like she’s leaving a little piece of herself behind. Then Emmit takes her hand, and the feeling clears like dandelion seeds in a gale. By the time they’re on their way back to the city, Saoirse realizes that the lightness she feels when she’s with Emmit is familiar. It’s the way she used to feel all the time. Before the depression. Before Jonathan. Or, at least, not since the very beginning with Jonathan.

When she’s with Emmit, she feels like herself.