The floorboards on his side of the apartment creak. He gives me a coy smile as I draw my lips into an “O,” clutching imaginary pearls.

“You little minx!” I lean to peer through the open doorway. “Jane Okogu, is there a gentleman in your boudoir?”

Jane inspects his nails, but his smile stretches ear to ear.

“Why are you in here?” I prod him with my foot. “Go tend to your fellow.”

“I don’t want to be clingy,” he replies, voice low. “Plus, I wanna show him off. I did good.”

“Um, hello?” a voice calls. “Jane?”

“In here,” Jane says, watching me.

Footsteps sound in the hall, and there’s a rap at my open door. A blond head pokes in.

Charles?

At the sight of Jane, Charles smiles. “Hey—oh! Good morning—” He aims a finger gun my way, eyebrows down in recall. “Kitten?”

I school my shock into pleasant surprise, though it’s touch-and-go when he steps in and the friendly face is accompanied by a shirtless form that speaks of an admirable devotion to a fitness regimen. Ming’s “hammer” joke comes to mind, and I will myself to keep my eyes above the waist of his dark boxer briefs.

“Good morning to you, too.” I smile back, internally cursing Jane, who is lounging on top of my robe. “And you’re right, it’s Kitten. Offstage, I’m Bennet. Charles, right?”

“Good memory.” He crosses the room, hand outstretched.

Clutching the comforter, I reach over Jane’s legs to shake. His hand is soft, but calluses scrape against similar rises high in my own palm. I wonder how he got his. Judging from his chiseled form, whatever it is, he does it diligently.

“The two of you room together?” Charles places a hand on Jane’s bare shoulder.

I shoot a quick glance at Jane, who relaxes into Charles’s touch. Interesting. “Yeah. Family got us connected.”

Charles nods, eyes sweeping the room, and I do a quick scan for anything unseemly. My design file is still on the desk and last night’s dress hangs on my chair, but that’s the worst of my offenses. Well, that and my nakedness, I guess.

He points to the cluster of lanterns tiered around the window and bed. Tulle and silk tendrils stream from them in light shades of blue and violet. “Jellyfish?”

“Meryton was in the Mermaid Parade this year,” I explain. “It’s an art parade in Coney Island, kind of kicks off the summer. Those were from our float. We were all jellyfish.”

I get a phantom itch at the memory. Redecorating my room ended up being a productive way to spend the two days I needed to recover from the sunburn I earned frolicking on the boardwalk in only pasties and a frothy tulle skirt.