Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Border formalities done, they picked up their luggage and queued up at the ATM machine to get króna. They made their way to the car rental place where Jonathan finalized the paperwork to rent a Mercedes.

“Mercedes, really?” asked Melissa. “I didn’t know they rented those.”

“Last minute choice was this, a teeny car that I would not fit in, or a big 4x4.”

“What do you drive at home?” she asked. They were waiting for their car to be brought up. The air was chilly but not unpleasantly so, and smelled of sulfur and AV gas, a combination most people who went to Iceland would forever associate with the airport.

“I don’t. I have a really nice bike, and an agreement that I can borrow one of Dad’s or Den’s cars if I need it. Especially since Den is off fishing part of the year.”

“Oh.”

“What about you?”

“One of those teeny cars you probably hate. I bought a purple Honda Fit a few years back and I’m holding onto it for dear life.”

“Because purple?”

“Because purple. Well, it is a good car. I take the bus to work most days, and, in the summer, I usually bike to and from the Park and Ride. If I’m by myself, the Fit is plenty big for my camping gear, and it’s easy to park.”

“Makes sense. Ah. Here is our ride!”

They got the keys, Jonathan signed off of the car, and put their luggage into the trunk. He walked around the car to open the door for her. She got in and he shut it. OK. It was nice, but that had to stop.

“I can open and close my own door,” she said.

“I’ll try to remember. My grandfather was really big on that, and so are Dad and Dennis.”

“You’re right, Martin does do that. OK, fine, in this car, but not the camper van or it’ll quickly become awkward!”

“I promise. Yell at me if I screw up. Also, I’ll add you as a driver for the camper, I didn’t for this because I already have a rental profile set up with the company and that kept the paperwork to a minimum. Do you drive a manual, or should I see about getting an automatic?”

 

The hotel was airy, modern, and, Melissa surmised, no doubt expensive. Jonathan got them checked in, handed her a key, and they followed the porter who was pushing the cart with their luggage up to their suite.

There was a decent sized sitting room with a couch the porter assured them was a pull out, then the main bedroom had two twin beds. Melissa looked around. It felt strangely intimate, but then she thought that they’d be sharing a much smaller space the next day.

She hoisted her suitcase onto the bed. The first order of business could be going through it and taking out what she could use camping, and getting anything she could washed, she hadn’t bothered doing that in London.

There was a knock at the door. Jonathan went to open it, and Melissa walked over. It was a young, tall, blonde woman (she was getting the feeling she was going to be looking UP at pretty much everyone over the age of 10), with a large clothing rack with a lot of clothes, a suitcase, and several bags.

“Melissa?” she asked.

“That’s me. You must be Embla.”

The purchases were rolled into the living area. Jonathan took a quick look, went to his suitcase to grab out trainers and running tights.

“I’m going for a run,” he said, heading towards the bathroom to change, while Embla started pulling clothes off racks and sorting them.

After Jonathan left, she looked at Melissa and said, with a smile: “He’s very cute, your boyfriend!”

She opened her mouth to correct her, then just nodded and smiled.

In short order she was trying on hiking pants, rain shells, warm jackets, fleece. There were several pairs of long underwear, two wool hats. Sizing was pretty close, only some of the gear meant for children was a bit tight across the chest, unfortunately including the purple warm jacket she’d picked out. Embla sorted, handed her gear, she tried it on and it went into a yay or nay pile. The jacket that ended up fitting best was a black one with hot pink accents. Ah well. It came with a black and hot pink woolen hat.

Embla chatted as Melissa put on and took off clothing and gear. She told her about various places in Iceland that were “not to miss”, gave her completely confusing directions to a fabulous coffee shop, and explained the details of swimming pool showering etiquette.

“How do you get your dry bathing suit on over your wet body?” Melissa asked.

Embla appeared to think for a moment. “You work hard and you pull a lot,” she said and they both laughed.

Finally, it was done. She was reasonably confident she had what gear she needed, it matched well to what Jonathan had suggested according to what he himself had packed. Embla gave her the second suitcase which she knew she was going to need.

Then out of one of the shopping bags, the other woman pulled out three big white boxes. She peaked and handed the top one to Melissa.

“France, she said for evenings when it’s cold in the van. Though warm body and duvet are better!”

Melissa blushed behind her mask, again, and opened the box. She touched the fabric, immediately sure it was a very heavy luxurious silk and cashmere blend. The shade was a deep blue purple, pretty much her favorite color. She took out pajamas, the bottoms with drawstring waist and cuffs at the ankles, and the top with a neckline that was more practical than sexy. They would be warm.

“There is a set for Jonathan. Green, France told me.” She pronounced Jonathan with a Y. It sounded nice when she said it.

“And she said you’d need something pretty for dinner tonight.” She handed Melissa the flatter of the two remaining boxes, and put the other one down, opening it just enough for Melissa to see the deep green pajamas intended for Jonathan.

She opened her own box. It was a top, all black, silver, deep blue and purple, shimmering. She lifted it out. It would fit perfectly. The neck was draped. She knew it would look good with her black trousers and jacket, though she’d been planning on wearing the pearl grey silk shell she’d worn to give her talk at the conference. This was… sparkling and pretty. She smiled, looking forward to putting it on.

“And I bought these. I noticed they were not on the list France gave me, but I thought you both would be going to our local swimming pools, you need towels.”

“Oh,” said Melissa, “Yes, we probably will.”

Embla put two big fluffy blue towels and some washcloths down. “I think you’ll enjoy our swimming pools. Remember what I told you!”

“Pull hard!” said Melissa and they started laughing again.

Jonathan opened the door to the suite and called out: “OK to come in?”

“Come on it, we’re about done here!” said Melissa. “I have so many tags to remove, and you have a box to open.”

Embla left, saying she’d return everything Melissa hadn’t wanted or needed, and wishing them a nice trip, and telling them to drive safely.

“How’d that go?” asked Jonathan.

“Perfectly well. Most of the things I picked out fit, Embla brought other items that were close in size in case they didn’t. I’ve got everything I need and best of all, they did have the same brand of hiking boots that I usually get so I know those will perfect. How was your run?”

“Great,” he said, “I am going to take a quick shower and dress for dinner. We’ll have about an hour to kill; would you like to do a short driving tour of the city?”

“That would be great.” She pointed at the box. “Open that, it’s for you, from France.”

He did. “Nice and warm, bless her. You have a set?”

“Yup. Purple. I feel totally spoiled.”

“Well, evenings do tend to get cold, and we both have computer work to do, right, so we’ll be all warm and cozy in our,” he checked the label, “cashmere and silk pajamas.”

He stood and stretched, and Melissa couldn’t help admiring the body in running tights. She felt a small knot of desire in her belly that she made a point of ignoring.

He got his suit out of his suitcase, sighed at the wrinkles, and called down to the front desk. Someone came to pick it up and assured him it would be ready in fifteen minutes. They took his shirt and tie too.

“Go ahead and get your shower,” said Melissa. “I’ll wait on the suit, drop my stuff in the laundry down the hall, and get dressed. Did you have anything you needed to get washed, like regular laundry?”

He did, and she left him to his shower and went down the hall to the area with washing machines she’d seen there. Jonathan had said they could get the hotel to do it, but she’d rolled her eyes at that. She’d have to remember to flip things from washer to dryer before they left for dinner.

She took her trousers and jacket out of her suitcase and gave them a shake. They’d be fine. She took off her jeans and sweater. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed, wishing for a moment that she’d brought fancier underwear to London with her. Cate and Mags had too often persuaded her to purchase sexy silky underthings, that usually sat in her drawer, shoved to the back and used only for the few fancy occasions she attended each year. She wished – but this was so unexpected, there was no way she could have known. She’d be fine. She put on her knee-high stocking socks, pulled on the trousers. She took the pretty shimmery top out of its box and noted there was a matching mask, which made her smile. The top was sleeveless, and she put it on. It draped beautifully around the neckline, and she thought it looked nice. Then she took it off, removed her bra, tossed it in her case, and put the top back on. She felt a small shiver. Jonathan would not know, but she would. It was silly, but it made her feel sexy. Of course, she reflected, that was because her breasts didn’t really need a bra.

There was a knock at the door, and she opened it, and they gave her Jonathan’s clothing. She knocked at the bathroom door, and he opened it, steam escaping. She didn’t really look but caught a glimpse of chest and towel as he took the hanger.

She went back to the mirror, took out her ponytail and brushed her hair. She found her barrette in her bathroom bag and twisted her hair into one of those messy buns that Meghan Markle made famous but that she had been wearing since her early twenties. Mascara and a bit of pink lip gloss.

He came out of the bathroom, blond hair still damp, adjusting his tie. He looked at her and smiled: “Sparkly. You look wonderful.”

“Thank you. As do you.”

“Shall we?” he asked, slipping on his shoes.

She got into her heels. She put on her jacket and grabbed her raincoat. It was lined and what she’d worn in London. She noted that Jonathan had one as well. By the time she’d seen him, his official business had been over, and he’d been wearing a blue North Face® puffer jacket.

Their car was brought up to the front of the hotel and Jonathan, again, opened the door for her with a flourish and shut it once she was in.

“Sorry,” said Jonathan, once they were in the car and doing up seatbelts, “you’re all dressed up.”

She smiled. He did all those little polite things without it being performative at all, and as a result, it just felt nice. She’d noticed it in London, but also noticed that he was not the type to, say, rush to a door to make sure she didn’t open it or if she got there first and opened the door, he went through it. She remembered how aggressive Rafe had been about being chivalrous, as he’d called it. It had been awful, and this felt so vastly different.

They drove down to the Sæbraut, which was on the water, all the way to the Harpa music hall. It was lit, and the iridescent glass gleamed. “How beautiful,” said Jonathan, and Melissa nodded in agreement.

Jonathan parked the car, and they crossed the busy road to get over to the Sun Voyager sculpture. They walked around it, took some photos, then walked a bit further down the path to see it from further away. Then back to the car, again crossing the busy street.

“I’m impressed at how fast you can run in those heels!” said Jonathan as they got to the car.

“Practice!”

They drove up to the white Hallgrímskirkja church, parked but neither got out of the car.

Jonathan turned up the heater. “It’s getting chilly, isn’t it? Or is it just me?”

“It is a bit… Wow,” she said. “That’s so beautiful.”

“I visited when I came here with Dad and Den. We can make time for it, either tomorrow or when we’re back here, at the end of the trip. It’s soaring inside, and you can take an elevator up, with great views over the area.”

“I’d like that, if it doesn’t disrupt your trip plans too much.”

He touched her forearm, quickly. “Melissa, it’s our trip now, ok?”

“I-Oh.”

“Let me guess: you hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“No. Just that I was a hanger-on to your trip.”

“Well, no! If there are things you want to do, let’s do them. We haven’t had much time to sit down and plan, so we can start out on my trip, but that doesn’t set anything in stone, ok?”

“All right,” she said. “But since I didn’t prepare for a trip to Iceland, and I’ve never been here before, I’m pretty ignorant.”

“I’ve got guidebooks and bookmarked websites; you can take a look.”

“Sounds good. And thank you. I feel… incredibly lucky.”

“So do I, which means we both are.”

They smiled at each other.

“It’s a Lutheran church,” he said, pointing again at the tall white structure. “You religious?”

She shook her head. “Not really. My dad is Catholic, of the good works type. My mother is Lutheran, Norwegian variety, and they each went to their own services happily, but left me alone beyond some basic teachings. I think they thought I’d just decide which religion was better and start going to services there, I don’t think they thought they’d end up with an agnostic with atheist leanings. You?”

“Dad’s Catholic, more or less lapsed. I was baptized, of course, but by the time First Communion rolled along, which was important to my grandparents, I refused, saying I was an atheist. Which I remain to this day. What do you see as the difference between agnostic and atheist?”

“For me it’s that you can’t prove a negative, but I have seen no evidence of the existence of a god. I don’t think we can ever know that there is or is not an afterlife or a divine being, but I also know that I don’t think there is. But I get that others can come to a different conclusion.”

“I see. I guess I feel more comfortable with a ‘no evidence of existence’ as an end point of my reasoning. Dennis is agnostic as well and says pretty much the same thing as you.”

As they drove towards the restaurant, he asked her about her parents.

“Yes, they’re both still alive. They have an apartment in an assisted living place not far from me. They’re a bit older, I mean, my mom was 40 when I was born, and my dad was 45. She was a pharmacy tech and a knitter; she still knits but pretty much just scarves at this point because arthritis. My dad had a landscaping company. When he retired, he sold it to his lead foreman, and one condition is that I get garden help for as long as Ramon owns the company, which is how I can manage an 8-acre property on my own. Anyhow, my dad at 83 still does landscaping design consulting on the side, and he still bikes on the River Trail, heaven help us.” They both laughed at that. “They have two cats with them in their apartment, Orion and Dante, and they take them on walks on leashes. They were good parents, though I think I was a bit of an afterthought, you know? I just showed up and they loved me, but I always felt like I was an intruder in the life they had planned. They were a lot older than most of my friends’ parents, and I saw how other families structured their lives around the kids, like visits to Disney, or trips to the pumpkin patch in the fall, stuff like that. My parents never did. Like we went to DC for a week one spring, and we visited all the monuments, the National Portrait gallery, Monticello, and places like that, never saw the National Zoo, or the Air and Space Museum, or even the Natural History Museum. My parents both biked, but I don’t think we ever did a bike ride as a family.”

“And you’re an only, right?”

“Oh yes. My parents never said, but I think I was an oops.” She laughed. “Our house tended to the quiet. I read a lot, my dad did his garden design, we played chess, and my mom listened to classical music while she knitted. Freshman year, I went to Phoenix with Mags to her place for Thanksgiving. She has two younger brothers, and her parents were raising three of her cousins, and I was shocked. It was like… chaos. Stuff all over the place, TV on, music blaring, someone playing the piano, and her mom made food with the kids in mind, you know, stuff they liked. I absolutely loved it.”

“That sounds closer to my childhood,” he said, “even if I was the only one creating the chaos.”

“You must have been a cute little handful for a single dad! I know Martin didn’t meet Dennis until you were… 7 or so, right? I was at their 15^th anniversary party last summer.”

They pulled in in front of the restaurant, immediately a valet came to take the car keys, and Jonathan again opened the car door for her.

He shook his head as they walked back towards their table. “The food will be good, but you can always trust France to find the fanciest place in any given city.”

“Oh?”

“She loves it. She loves dressing up and going out to dinner, she loves formal events. If I’m not crystal clear on where she books me, it’s going to be fancy. I’ve learned to roll with it, and to make my own reservations if I can.”

The maître d’ had taken their coats, and at their table looked on approvingly as Jonathan held her chair for her. He sat down across from her and rolled his eyes.

“All of which reminds me, we will have to take a selfie for her later, in full fig.”

They ordered wine as they looked at the choices. They ended up opting for the set tasting menu, it was easier than deciding.

Over a glass of wine, Jonathan continued. “Back to parents. Did Dad ever tell you how he and Den met?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I mean, that they were introduced by friends, but nothing more.”

He smiled. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he said.

“I’m listening.”

“You know that Dad had me via surrogacy?”

“Yes, he was always very open about that.”

“I do not know the egg donor, beyond her medical history and that she was a UW graduate student. I do, however, know my surrogate. As do you.” He grinned.

“I do?”

“I know you met her at least at Dad and Den’s 10^th anniversary and my graduation.”

“All right?”

“Constance.”

She thought for barely half a second. “Constance? She’s Dennis’s sister-in-law, isn’t she?”

“Yup.”

“OK, spit out the full story.”

The first course arrived, with a glass of its paired wine. The food was exquisite, and Melissa ate, sipped, and listened.

“Dad found Constance through, I guess, some contact in the gay community. She already had two kids and had liked being pregnant but didn’t want a third. They got along well, Ray was good with it, so Dad found the egg donor, embryos were created, and there they were. Nine months later, me.” He took a few bites of dinner. “Damn this is good. I just hope there is a lot more of it or I’ll have to get a hotdog on the way back to the hotel. Anyhow, they agreed on a few things. Constance wanted to keep in touch, and since everyone got along, they decided she and her family would be invited to my birthday parties every year, or some such event, and that Dad would tell me who she was when I was old enough to understand. The other thing they agreed on was that I would be the one to hold the secret: as soon as I knew, I would be the only one who would tell anyone who didn’t already know that Constance was my surrogate mother. I can tell you, when I did finally get it, at about 6, that made me feel quite special. Anyhow, the year I turned 7, I guess, Constance called Dad before my party and confirmed that she, Ray, and the girls would be there, but wondered if it was ok to bring Ray’s brother Dennis who was in town while his boat was being repaired. Dad said sure.”

“Enter Dennis?”

“Enter Dennis. That’s how they met. I adored him right away, and I was quite sad when he went back to finish the fishing season. He moved in with us pretty quickly, and I remember one day asking him to take me to McDonald’s for lunch and sitting at a table across from him and telling him just how we knew Constance and Ray. I suspect he’d already guessed, because he must have known Constance had been doing a surrogate pregnancy, but he never let on. He accepted it as something I was sharing with him. It was one of the first bonds we created, independently of Dad, you know?”

“I think I understand.”

“Anyhow, it’s been great. He and Dad are happy together, Constance is beyond thrilled, and it all feels very happy-family-ish.”

She nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” She felt like she’d been given a gift, and she could tell that this wasn’t really something he’d shared often.

He nodded and held her eyes for a second longer than expected. She blushed and looked down at her wine.

 

The maître d’ ended up taking a photo of them. Melissa felt Jonathan’s hand on her back as he stood next to her, and she thrilled. It was a light touch, nothing truly intimate, but it felt nice, and she enjoyed it. The photo taken, he helped her with her coat, and they headed back to the hotel.

There, Melissa looked at the pile of clothing, all still with tags, on the couch. It all had to be packed. At least she had two bags.

“You’re so sparkly, I feel like I should take you dancing or something,” he said.

She shook her head. “I have packing to do, and I don’t dance.”

“Oh?”

“I suck at it,” she said, tossing her coat onto the dresser.

Jonathan did the same, and his suit jacket with it. He shoved the coffee table closer to the couch, creating a small space in the small room. He started some music on his cell phone, and turned to her, extending a hand. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked.

She shook her head but took his hand. “Your toes are going to regret this,” she said.

“We have a mirror, we have music, we don’t have a lot of room, we’ll be fine,” he said. “May I put a hand on your back?”

“Of course. Remember we also have heels, two left feet, three glasses of wine, and a complete inability to follow the music.”

“Don’t follow the music. Follow me. I’ve got this.”

He took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. She could feel the warmth of him through his dress shirt. She swallowed when he placed his hand on her back, and she knew without a doubt he could feel that she had nothing on underneath her top.

“OK,” he said, and his voice sounded a bit strangled, “come on, we’ve got this… One, two, step back then right then left, second foot should just glide, again…”

It was confusing as hell, she tripped a few times, he caught her once, they laughed a lot. The music played, and she realized that they’d shifted from the formal waltz to a slow dance, swaying gently to the music, and that his arms were around her, and hers were on his shoulders, her face close enough to his chest that she could smell soap and him. She also knew that she, at least, had had one more glass of wine than she was used to, and that the warm sensuality of the moment was leading her somewhere she wasn’t sure either of them were ready to be. Still it felt so nice to be held like this… She drifted to the warmth and the music.

“Melissa,” he whispered. She shivered at his voice, soft and low.

Oh god, she thought. He was feeling this too. She took a deep breath and pulled out of the -there was no other word for it- embrace.

“I have got to get these heels off,” she said, opting for the first thing that popped into her head, resolutely ignoring the fact that what she’d wanted to do was take his hand and lead him to the bed. “My feet are killing me.”

She didn’t look at him. The music stopped. She took off her shoes.

He cleared his throat. “Why the heels, then?” He was leaning against the desk.

She tried a laugh. It almost sounded natural. “Have you not noticed I’m short?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Seriously, though. I wear Danskos on a day-to-day basis, that’s an extra 2in every day, they’re comfortable enough for walking and lab work. But at conferences and events like that? The 4in heels come out. People pay more attention to someone taller. Otherwise, I swear, they ignore me. They’d pat me on the head if they could. Men, especially, but women as well.”

“Ah.”

“I was in grad school when I realized it. I bought heels and wore them constantly for a few weeks until I felt confident I wouldn’t fall flat on my face.” While she was talking, she was snipping tags off clothing with the scissors from her knitting bag. “It’s my armor, in some way. My you need to pay attention to me flag.”

“Do you think it’s a sexy thing or--?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, in my case, I think it’s truly a tall thing. I need those extra inches.”

He still looked puzzled. She put down the pants she was holding and went to stand at a conversational distance from him.

“Dr Teague! I was listening to your talk the other day on the prognosis of atypical teratoid rhabdoid tumors in children when diagnosed before their first birthday and I have a few questions. Do you have a moment?” She was looking up at him. He was over a foot taller, she had to crane her neck, and he was very clearly looking down at her.

“Now wait!” She slipped back into her heels and repeated the question. She still had to look up at him but didn’t have to crane her neck and his gaze, too, was closer to level.

“See what I mean?”

“I do. Thank you. There are a few women at the hospital that are also very short, and I’ll make sure that I don’t overlook, or assume, or anything.”

“That’s good. Anyhow, that’s why I wear heels.” She resumed snipping tags. “That said, they are going in the ‘leave here in Reykjavik’ bag.”

“I promise to pay attention to you even if I have to look down from my lofty height,” he said.

They both laughed and Melissa breathed an internal sigh of relief. She didn’t want things to get… complicated. Well, she thought as she snipped the final tag, she did, but that wasn’t what this trip was about.

She put her two suitcases up on the bed and started sorting.

“Oh,” she said. “Could you go down the dryers and pick up our laundry?”

“On it!”

He folded it as well. She’d noted he wore boxers when she’d tossed in the laundry, and now he was folding her panties and bras, and suddenly the amount of intimacy that they were going to share over the next week and a half hit her. She bit her lip. She needed to get clear on this attraction business, or she was going to make a mess of what could be a really nice time with an awesome guy, even if there was no sex.

Her phone rang, startling them both. Cate.

“Hey sweetie,” she said.

“Mags is on too.”

“Hi Lissy! Where are you? How’s Reykjavik?”

Cate said, “Can you talk?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Jonathan touched her arm and said, very quietly “I’m going to scrounge up some food, I’m still hungry.” He smiled at her, and seconds later she heard the door shut, at the same time she heard Mags.

“Was that Jonathan? Tender nothings? Or what? Tell us what’s going on.”

She hadn’t taken the time to email them. So, she sat down on the bed, and started to talk.

“And we got back from dinner, and we danced a bit, and now he was folding laundry and I was packing my old stuff in one suitcase, to stay at the van rental place, and my new stuff in another suitcase to come with me.”

“Danced a bit? Details please.” asked Mags.

Of course she’d picked up on that.

“Uh, he tried to teach me to waltz. It did not go well; we all know I have two left feet.”

They were both silent for a few seconds. She tried waiting them out. It didn’t work. It never worked for either her or Cate. Mags could usually hold out a bit longer.

“OK, fine, we ended kinda slow dancing for a bit. It felt really nice.” She didn’t tell them about not wearing a bra. That would be a step too far.

“So you have the hots for him, he presumably does for you—”

“No.”

“Oh come on, Lissy,” said Mags. “You don’t ask someone to spend almost two weeks with you in a tiny camper van if they’re just a friend.”

“I’d think the same thing, but Ms, I’m not getting that vibe off of him at all. I mean, I feel like he really enjoys hanging out with me, but nothing indicates it’s anything more than that.”

“Slow dancing? In a hotel room?”

“It just happened. And it felt nice, and I felt buzzed, but I didn’t get the impression he wanted to take it any further, ok?”

They talked for a bit longer, then said good night. She promised to keep in touch, and that she’d send along the photo of them all dressed up. Jonathan came back, with a plate full of open-faced fish-based sandwiches. He finished folding the laundry, tossed his just folded clothing pell-mell into his suitcase. Then he sat down to eat, while she finished packing her case.

“Late night snack?” she asked.

“Dinner was great. It was delicious, beautiful, perfectly paired with the wine. It was also three bites,” he said. “You want some?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m all packed. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

When she came out of the bathroom in her pajamas, Jonathan was shoving stuff around in the small sitting room to make room for the pull-out bed. She shook her head. “Just take the other bed, Jonathan. Think camper van!”

“You sure?”

“Yup. If you snore, I’ll throw pillows at you.”

He laughed and went to brush his teeth.

When he came back, he had on just dark green tartan pajama bottoms. He wandered over to his suitcase and started rummaging around.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll find a t-shirt.”

She made a non-committal noise. He looked good. Of course he did. He was 24 and a runner. She reluctantly returned her attention to her Kindle.

“Light off or on?”

“Off is fine. I’ve got my Kindle. Does the glow bother you?”

“Nope. If I’m going to sleep, I’ll sleep pretty much through anything… G’night, Melissa.”

“Good night, Jonathan.”