“Don’t you dare!”

I lean my seat back and start humming the popular song, eliciting a growl from Charleigh that makes me laugh before she reaches forward and drowns me out with the sound of a new song. Smiling, I close my eyes and imagine the warm brown eyes I saw that night, and the chestnut hair with a natural wave that somehow managed to fall perfectly in place, unlike mine when I leave it in its naturally wavy state. There are dozens of partial memories I have from that night, but sleeping with him is as clear as crystal. Every breath, sound, stare, and touch is flawlessly etched into my memory, and I’m struggling to decide if I am grateful or rueful for it.

I STIR as the car engine stops, grateful that I missed Charleigh’s parallel parking job. “Since you’re working a half shift, I’ll just take the bus home,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“What time are you off?”

My hand grips the cloth strap of my messenger bag, pulling it into my lap so I can securely fasten the flap. Rain is coming down in sheets. It distorts the images of people and storefronts, bringing a slight itch to my brain that has been absent. It’s the desire to create.

“Lauren.” Charleigh extends my name like it’s several syllables, and I shake my head and turn to face her.

“Sorry. I’m off at ten.”

“I was going to head over to the library. I’ve got some homework I need to work on, and I can’t go home and do it. It’s English, and I can’t focus on reading and books when I’m surrounded by fabrics and designs.”

“The library closes before ten.”

“Then I’ll just come by and have some nachos.”

“Charleigh, I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting all mother hen on me?”

“Because you get distracted when she rings.”

“When who calls me?” I ask absently.

“Did she talk about coming to visit again?”

I shake my head and watch the blurred shape of a person jog across NE Martin Luther King Boulevard. “No. She said she wants to try again in November. She’s been busy.”

“But you’re her daughter.”

My nails rake across my forehead, likely leaving a red pattern across my fair skin. “I know. She’ll come eventually. Summer’s a busy time for her work.” I straighten in my seat and reach for the door handle. “I’m serious though—don’t hang around downtown for four hours. Go home. I’ll catch the bus.”

“I can come back. It’s a short drive.”

My chin drops and my eyes blink and then slowly open. “I’ll. Be. Fine.”

“Call me, then. I want to know when you leave and when you get home.”

“You know, I was doing this a long time before I met you.”

“Too long.” My eyes dance across her lips that are turned down at the corners. Her gaze won’t meet mine. “Alright, at least text me. I get anxious.”

“Alright, I will text you when I leave, and again when I get home. Seriously, you’re worse than the possessive boyfriend type.”

“Damn right. I got a key to your flat after knowing you for only a week. I move fast.”

“Did I mention you’re a stalker?”

“You can’t stalk the willing.”

“Only willing with you.”

Charleigh leans forward and kisses each of my cheeks and reclines back and opens her door. “Later, love. Don’t forget to text me!”

“Don’t forget to stalk Allie.”

“I already know she’s at her friend Katie’s, working on an empire waist dress that is going to look fab on you. Now get to work. You’re going to be cutting it close.” She slams her door closed as I stand on the sidewalk.

The rain quickly finds every fraction of exposed skin, including my wrists and the back of my neck, sending a tingle down my spine. I give Charleigh a parting wave before putting my head down and making a run for Sonar, the small Mexican restaurant I work at.

“Hey, Lo!” I smile at Mia as I make my way through the back entrance that leads directly into the kitchen. “Guess what? Julio and Kendra are making mole and sopapillas tonight! Do you smell it?”

I stop and take a deep breath through my nose, taking in the tingling sensation from the spices and the sweetness lingering with the heat. “I was hoping for tamales, but mole is a good second.”

“The best.” Mia’s lips, which are painted a bright orangey-red, lift into a wide smile. Then she turns, heading over to the prep counter where she expertly begins dicing lettuce. She’s been working here since she was eighteen, and her thirtieth birthday is next week. She knows this place better than everyone aside from Estella, the owner, and helps with all functions.

“Hey!” I call, heading farther into the kitchen, passing several waiters, bussers, and cooks.

“Hey, Lo!” a chorus echoes in response.

“It’s crazy out there tonight,” a new waitress says, stopping in front of me. Her brown eyes scan her notepad as she shifts her weight to the other foot. “My feet are killing me.” She’s still trying to wear cute shoes with heels rather than practical ones for all the moving we do.

“I’ll have some mole ready for you as soon as you’re on your break, baby,” Mia assures her.

“Mole and a foot rub?”

“Mole and a shot of tequila,” Mia counters.

“Deal.”

My laughter joins Mia’s, a woman who has become one of my closest friends since moving out here three years ago, and head over to clock in. With the few minutes left before my shift, I fix my hair, pulling the loose brown strands back up into a messy knot on my head, and tie a black apron around my waist.

“Lo, you’re on one through eight tonight. I may need you to take nine and ten too. The new guy isn’t working out so well. The more tables he gets, the more mistakes he makes.” My manager, Estella, appears from the front of the restaurant, her long black hair parted and braided around her head and her lips a dark maroon. I used to sketch her on my breaks because she has one of the most parallel faces I’ve ever seen, but lately, all I sketch are hands—the same hands I managed to memorize the most minute and subtle details of.

“I’m on it,” I assure her.

“And Lo.” I turn, my eyebrows high with surprise that there’s more instruction when we generally communicate with so few. “Find your smile for me tonight. I miss it.”

My lips lift obligingly, and I shake my head before I head out to table four. My hands fish through my apron to ensure I haven’t notoriously grabbed the one apron with no pens again, and work begins.

“YOU’VE got to move out, Lauren.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumble, dropping my pillow and sleeping bag to the small bedroom floor.

“Lie up here with me.” Charleigh extends the same offer each time I come in, and each time I reject it.

“I’m fine.”

She’s learned to stop arguing.

“Was it the same guy? The crier?”

“No. This guy kept making her call him daddy. If I didn’t already have daddy issues, this would have done it for me.”

“That’s sick,” Allie murmurs.

“Sorry, Al. I didn’t mean to wake you guys up.”

She releases a long yawn before I hear her roll over. “No worries. I sadly use your bad luck and stories about Kenzie to feed my boring life.” Another loud yawn fills the quiet space. “But do you ever worry about your bed … and if they use it.”

“I hadn’t … until now.”

Allie’s giggles are muffled as she pushes her face into her pillow, making my lips instinctively curl, but the idea of some strange man sleeping in my bed—very possibly naked—makes me feel the need to burn my sheets first thing tomorrow. At least I always bring my pillow with me.

“Daddy huh? Like, Spank me, daddy?”

“Charleigh, you need to get laid,” Allie says. I release a quiet chuckle as I roll to my back, feeling the hard floor bite into some of the tension in my shoulders from having been hunched over my easel all afternoon.