“I do. Would you like me to lower them?”

“No.”

Dragging her fingers across the glass, Taylor watched as Jude surveyed his apartment, secretly wanting her to like the place, to like him. Despite the fingerprint trail he would be cleaning in the morning, it didn’t bother him. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Why are you acting so formally?”

“Am I?”

Her eyes locked on his. “You are. I liked you better when you spoke of The Barretts as things instead of people.”

“I’m a Barrett.”

“And yet, I still came here.” Jude walked to an open door. “Is this the bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like a Crown and Coke.”

“Will Jack Daniels do?”

“I’ll have wine. Red,” she replied, then disappeared into his bedroom.

Taylor had stopped trying to figure her out back at the party, so her drink preference didn’t surprise him. It took a few minutes to figure out which bottle he wanted to open. When he did, he poured them both a glass of Cabernet and joined her in the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway when he found her asleep on his bed. “Jude?” He waited a few seconds before trying again. “Jude, are you awake?”

Walking to the side of the bed closest to her, he set the glasses down on the night table and kneeled in front of her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even and calm. Her coat was draped on a chair by the window and her boots were on the floor. The green gloves still covered her hands, so he carefully slipped them off, one by one, and set them by her coat before returning with a blanket to cover her.

Taking his glass of wine with him, he sat in the chair. Outside, the lights provided enough visibility to see her in the dark room. Her small form was curled on her side. Her lips were together. Her hair splayed over his pillow. He watched her, curious to know more about her.

He hadn’t brought anyone to his apartment in a long time, and it had been even longer since anyone had been in his bed. But he found her discord refreshing compared to the monotonous tedium of his day-to-day.

This was the most alive he’d felt in forever. The high was addictive. The eccentric young woman more so. She had disrupted his peace and as he watched her sleep, he liked the way she made him feel.

He liked her.

THE SMELL OF bacon and eggs woke Taylor. When he opened his eyes, it was still dark outside and his body was stiff. He sat forward in the chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. The bed had been abandoned and the blanket left balled up. Jude.

Getting up, he walked to the door and looked toward the kitchen. Her back was to him and she scrambled eggs in a skillet. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She wasn’t looking at him and he didn’t know how she knew he was there, but he smiled lightly and joined her, sitting at the bar. “Is it?”

“Good or morning?”

“Either. Both.”

“It’s both,” she replied, turning to greet him with a much more awake smile than his before returning to tend to the eggs.

Looking at his watch, he yawned. “It’s two thirty in the morning.”

“I like this time of day. I like being awake when the rest of the world sleeps. It’s peaceful. There’s no negotiating to be done.”

As he stared at the back of her, her frame covered in wrinkled green cotton, he wanted to ask her about the negotiating, about the pills, about the turmoil she was hiding from. But he didn’t because he liked this. Selfishly, he liked her secrets and her whims. He liked that she was cooking in his home.

Setting a plate of food and a fork in front of him, she asked, “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” He picked up his fork and looked up. “Thank you for the food.”

She leaned forward, rested her chin on her hands, and stared at him. “You’re welcome. Now stop being so formal, Hazel. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

He took a few bites, and then asked, “You’re not eating?”

“I’m not hungry. I’m sleepy. I’m going back to bed.” She whisked around the island bar, right past him.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

She called from the bedroom, “I made it for you.”

He took another bite and swallowed. Then asked, “So does that mean we’re friends now?”

“Friends. Officially.”

That made him smile. He finished eating and returned to the bedroom. When he walked in, he took off his pants and the button-up shirt he had fallen asleep in, leaving him in an undershirt and boxer shorts.

“Will you sleep next to me, Hazel?”

He almost argued that he didn’t want to be called that, but everything with her seemed to fit, including suddenly having a name he didn’t even like. So he decided to let it slide until morning and slipped under the covers. He felt her dress spread behind her, pushed it forward, and moved closer. He didn’t wait to see if she wanted him touching her. He just did it. Selfishly, he put his arm over her, found her hand, and moved it so he was holding her around the chest, finding his own comfort.

Her warm breath hit his fingers lightly and he could feel the tenseness of her body. But he didn’t move. He liked it too much to do something that selfless.

She whispered, “Who is the girl in the photo?”

Lifting his head up just enough to see the frame facing them, he inwardly sighed, not wanting to touch on that subject tonight. “Thank you for cooking. It was good.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, “to keep your secrets, too.”

A small smile crossed his mouth knowing she understood him, and respected the need to keep secrets too.

They fell asleep in a comforting silence.

Hours had passed and Taylor was unaware of the hour. He removed the pillow from his head and looked up. Jude sat in the chair, her skirt billowing around her hips. The way her leg was bent exposed her body beneath the cotton. With a cigarette burning in one hand, her head rested on the other, she said, “What are we going to do about this, Hazel?”

“What’s this, Jude?” He sat up, his back leaning against the headboard, and rubbed his eyes. With the morning sun shining into the room, he noticed her bright pink panties. “I don’t allow smoking in my apartment.”

She sighed and stubbed her cigarette into a coffee mug. “That’s the ‘do’ I’m talking about. You’re pistachio and I’m rocky road. They just don’t mix.”

“I could argue that, but I have a feeling anything I say wouldn’t matter.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong.” She took her boots in hand. Looking down as she slipped one on at a time, she said, “How long have we known each other?”

“We don’t know each other at all.”

“Ah,” she replied, remembering. “Yes, that’s right. You’re a Barrett.”

Bending his knees, he was getting irritated from this conversation. He wasn’t awake enough for mind games. “And what are you again?”

“Hopeless. So very hopeless.”

“And here I thought I was the impossible one.”

That made her laugh. “Clever.” Standing up, she took her gloves from the table, her coat from the chair, and put it on. As she buttoned, she said, “I called it the minute I saw it.”

“Saw what exactly? My eye color?”

“No. Your soul.”

He was starting to wonder if this conversation would have an ending or if she always talked in circles.

“I knew we’d be put in an impossible situation, a love affair that would mean more than it should, more than either of us could endure once it was over.”

He got out of bed as she spoke and grabbed his suit pants. “Love affair? We’ve neither made love or had an affair tonight, so you are either overly confident or psychic.”

“I’m neither. I just know what I feel and I could see what you needed.” She walked past him as he buckled his belt.

Following her into the living room, he spoke to her back. “And what do I need that was so apparent to you?”