He’d changed into sweats and a hoodie, and under the soft yellow light of a reading lamp positioned away from me, he wrote with pencil on a clipboard.

Surely the concierge was back from lunch and could open my condo, but the thought of returning to my mattress on the floor and not much else did not appeal even a little.

I snuggled under Henry’s duvet and breathed in his rich scent from the pillow. Eyes closed again, my head still painfully heavy, I listened to the occasional scratch of the pencil and wondered what he was doing.

I slept more. Henry’s pillow-top mattress was amazingly soft yet still supportive. I was dozing lightly when I felt a cat jump up. I’d noticed a fleeing feline butt earlier, and now it was apparently curious about who was in Henry’s bed.

It was weird that thinking those words—in Henry’s bed—excited me. I’d been in my fair share of beds, but now the thought of someone else between these quality sheets—not just here, but with Henry in bed too instead of sitting nearby—had jealousy spiking through me.

I imagined him holding me. Kissing me. Touching me all over, both of us naked—even though his PJs were really comfortable, and I loved wearing them.

I imagined coaxing moans of pleasure from him and finally making him smile. Clearly the electrical storm in my brain was causing a misfire.

The cat brushed my bare skin where I’d stuck out my foot, the PJ leg bunched up. After a while, I always got too hot to sleep all tucked and bundled.

I didn’t want to open my eyes or move and frighten it, so I stayed motionless in that twilight state. At some point, a rough little tongue licked my shin experimentally, and I smiled.

“How do you feel?”

I opened my eyes at Henry’s question, the black, orange, and white Calico cat leaping down to safety. Henry made a little clucking noise that apparently beckoned it. The cat jumped onto the love seat and walked across the back before settling by his head.

Realizing I hadn’t answered and was staring at Henry like a creeper, I said, “Better. Thank you. Who’s that?”

“Esmeralda.”

“Big Hunchback fan?”

He seemed surprised. “Yes.”

“What? I know literature. Okay, fine, I know cartoon musicals. We had the DVD when I was a kid.”

His eyebrows shot up even higher. “It’s under-appreciated.”

“It is!” So Henry liked cartoon musicals too? It was weirdly comforting, though for all I knew he also read ancient books. “She’s sweet. A little skittish?”

“Mm.” He shifted to face me, stroking her idly with his left hand. I could hear the low vibration of her purr.

“What are you working on?” I nodded to the clipboard on his lap, relieved that my head felt more normal.

“Crossword.”

“Oh, that explains the pencil. I’ve never really done one. When I was a kid I liked word searches. They’re probably super easy for you. Is that the New York Times crossword? I saw a video on YouTube about how it gets harder every day of the week. Also, crosswords have themes? I had no clue. Heh, clue. I’m surprised you don’t do it in pen and force yourself to start over if you make a mistake.”