LIAM WOKE AN hour later, wondering if the night before had been a dream. Cecily—gorgeous, passionate, amazing Cecily—in his bed all night. He’d explored every inch of her body and yet his fingers itched to do it again. He stretched out his arm and grasped only cool, abandoned sheets. He sat up then, blinking. Where was she? He swung his feet off the side of the bed. He wore only boxers as he padded over to the bathroom. He found it predictably empty. Her shoes, which she’d kicked off near his door, were also gone as were her clothes. A pit formed then at the center of his stomach.
She’d snuck out.
Why was he surprised? She was just trying to save him the awkward breakfast-or-no-breakfast conversation, the lie about how, of course, they’d get together again. Because she had no intention of getting together with him again. Of course she hadn’t. What would a woman like that want with a man like him? But he also sort of admired her determination not to lie to him. Not to tell him, of course, she’d see him around. When she already knew she wouldn’t. He knew he should feel lucky to have gotten one night. She was a million miles out of his league. He sat back down on his bed and fell backward, her scent still on his sheets, filling his nose, reminding him that, no, it hadn’t been a dream. She’d been here. And he’d had the most amazing sex of his life. At least he’d taken advantage of it. They’d been up nearly all night, falling asleep sometime just before dawn. How she’d managed to even wake up was beyond him. He’d been dead to the world. It had been a long day of work yesterday on the roof and then a long night in bed with the most amazing woman he’d ever met. He’d been bone-tired. No wonder she’d been able to sneak out.
And now she was gone.
Just one more woman he’d scared away. Good things didn’t stay in his life for long. He should know that by now. He pulled himself up on his elbow and surveyed his simple and stark apartment. Nothing in it was there purely for decoration, except for the one photograph of him and his dad. Everything had a use. He glanced at the breakfast bar of his kitchen, which served as a breakfast, lunch and dinner bar since he had no dining room table in his small efficiency apartment. Waste not, want not. Something he hadn’t learned growing up in one of the country’s wealthiest media families. He glanced at the phone lying on the countertop and froze. That wasn’t his. It must be Cecily’s.
He laughed out loud. Her sneaking-out skills clearly needed work. He pulled himself from bed and grabbed the phone. He swiped at the screen, expecting to find it password protected, but instead, found the entire thing unlocked. How trusting was this woman? Everyone knew you needed a password to protect your phone. Otherwise, you drop it on the street and people could access your email, or worse, bank account. She hadn’t even bothered to activate fingerprint or facial recognition protection. He shook his head. He shouldn’t snoop through her phone, but also, how else was he supposed to figure out how to return it?
He dug into her text messages first, figuring that maybe she’d have a friend or relative he might be able to text. He saw a message from her mom, first. Hi, honey.
So, he had her mom’s number. What could he say? Hi, there. Your daughter left her phone at my house after a one-night stand of hot and dirty sex? Probably wouldn’t leave the best impression. He scrolled deeper into the conversation, though, not even meaning to do so.
How did it go today? Any good news?
Hmm. Wonder what her mom meant? He hoped it wasn’t about her job. Because he remembered she’d mentioned she’d gotten laid off. He dipped out of that conversation and back to the message list. He scrolled through a few marketing messages, and then stopped when he saw Anderson Oncology Center. He opened the text. It was a bot confirming her appointment. And it looked like that appointment—was for yesterday. And this was one of several in the last month.
Liam felt his throat go dry. She’d told him at the dive bar yesterday that she’d been having a bad day. He thought it was because she’d lost her job, but now he was beginning to realize she was hiding worse news. Only people who were sick went to the oncology center, only people who had hard cancer cases. He knew that because one of the guys on his last roofing job had mentioned it, that his dad went there for advanced prostate cancer. Liam felt a little nauseous. And a little betrayed. Why hadn’t she said something?
But what would she say? It’s not like Hey, I’ve got cancer is what anybody means when they ask about talking dirty.
Of course, now he knew why she’d come so eagerly into his bed. Why worry about consequences of having sex with someone clearly below her when she had other, bigger things on her mind. His own head filled with a dozen questions at once: How serious was the cancer? What kind was it? What was the prognosis? And was there anything he could do? He almost laughed to himself. He was a roofer, not a doctor. What could he do?
First, he needed to get her phone back to her. Because she didn’t need to have to worry about buying a new phone on top of everything else. It hit him then that the loss of her insurance probably felt like another kick to her gut. He shook his head. Damn, heartless corporations. Always about their bottom line, never caring about the human carnage they left behind.
He opened up her email on her phone, trying to figure out where she lived. Right at the top he found a confirmation of an online order, and her delivery address was right there. Turns out, she lived pretty close. And Liam had nothing to do today. He had some time off before his next job started. No better time than today to return her phone—and get some answers.
Cecily sat on her modern gray couch in her own small condo a few blocks away, and reached down to pet her Russian blue, Tripp. He mewed softly, and rubbed against her ankle. Normally, his attention meant that he wanted a kitty treat, or that it was mealtime, but lately—since her cancer diagnosis, or if she were honest with herself, even a little before—he’d been hovering around her, his concern evident. Maybe it was true what they said about animals being able to detect sickness in people. Tripp certainly seemed unnaturally attuned to her. He followed her everywhere now, keeping his gray eyes fixed on her, as if afraid that if he didn’t, she’d fade away and disappear.
Thinking about what would happen to him when she was gone made tears spring to her eyes. Where would he go? Her sister’s? Mother’s? Would they know what kind of treats he liked? Which ones he didn’t? And he was super picky about his cat litter. They’d need to know that. Tripp leaped up on the couch, burrowing his head into her lap as if to tell her not to worry, it would all be okay. He then curled up on her legs for a quick nap. His rumbling purring comforted her.
She needed to talk to her mother and her sister. Neither one knew how bad things were. They knew about the cancer, but both had assumed there’d be treatments. Chemo. Surgery. Something. Just like she had. She needed to call them both. She promised herself she would. But not yet. She planned to avoid telling them about the bad news. What was she going to say? Better come visit me while you can, even though you live hundreds of miles away near Cleveland?
It seemed an impossible blow, especially since her father had died of a heart attack a few years before. Now her mother and sister would lose her, too. The thought made tears sting her eyes. She sniffed them back. She wasn’t going to cry today. She’d promised herself no moping today. No pity parties. There’d be plenty of time for those when her health really started to fail. Right now, she had to not waste the time she had left. She needed to do more things like she did last night: get out of her comfort zone. Be daring.
She thought about Liam’s strong hands exploring her body and missed them suddenly. She still couldn’t believe she’d been so bold as to fall into his bed minutes after meeting him, but then again, she hadn’t met a man that sexy, that strong, in who knows when. The old Cecily would’ve been too scared even to sit next to him, even after he’d been kind in the bar by shushing her heckler. Hell, the old Cecily would’ve been too scared even to go into that dive bar, much less buy Liam a drink.
She kind of liked the new, Bucket List Cecily. Reminded her more of the woman she used to be, the college undergrad who’d packed up her beat-up hatchback and driven all the way to NYU, the first in her family to move out of state in at least three generations. She glanced at her watch, realizing she’d just missed her usual train, a twenty-minute ride to the corporate HR headquarters of Yancy’s, where she used to work. She’d given them seven hardworking years, and they’d repaid her by letting her go when she’d needed health insurance the most.
She glanced around her small, modern condo, kept mostly neat, except for her dirty gym clothes peeking out of her gym bag, and her discarded shoes near the couch. Her place was about half or a third the size of what she’d be able to afford if she’d stayed in Cleveland. She might even have a house by now and a husband, like most of her high school classmates did. They all had yards and endless baby showers, reminding her that taking the leap and moving to a bigger city meant putting some of those dreams on hold.
Of course, now she might never have a family, or a yard of her own. No, not might not, she reminded herself. Would not. Sadness filled her heart as she cuddled Tripp in her lap. He seemed to sense she needed a little more comfort as he stood, stretched and nuzzled her neck.
“Thanks, buddy.” Tripp mewed, staring into her eyes with concern. She stroked his back. “It’ll be all right,” she told him, not at all sure it would be.
The buzzer sounded at her front door then, startling them both.
“Who’s that?” she asked Tripp, even as he leaped off her lap and flicked his tail, his ears flattening just a little at having his petting session interrupted. Cecily stood and padded over to her intercom, pressing the button. “Hello?”
“Hi, Cecily.” The man’s low voice hit her straight in the solar plexus.
“Liam,” she said, startled and a bit panicky. Her hand flew to her hair. Had she even combed it since she’d been home? She glanced down at her outfit: gray sweatpants and an old NYU shirt, grub clothes that she’d hastily changed into the second she’d gotten home that morning. She’d scrubbed her face of the residue of makeup from the night before. In short, she was a shiny-faced mess. “Uh, what are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to return your phone.”
Dammit. Her phone. She ought to be happy, but facing Liam, in the early afternoon light of her condo after she’d snuck out, was the very last thing she wanted to do right now. Yet, part of her was flattered he’d made the trip to her place the same day. Or that he’d made the trip at all. If he were a worse guy, he could’ve sold her phone. Pocketed the cash. But she already knew Liam wasn’t that kind of guy. She remembered him taking a shower the night before, considerate of her, a surprising gentleman.
“Uh, can I come up...or...?” Liam hesitated.
Cecily paused, too. Should she let him in? What should she do? She glanced down at Tripp who busied himself by leaning against her right leg, still purring.
“If you want me to just leave the phone here, I can do that, too.” Liam sounded resigned. Sad even.
“No!” Cecily shouted, a bit too forcefully into her intercom, so that she got a buzz of feedback. “I mean, here. I’ll buzz you up. I’m on the third floor. First door on the left.” She hit the buzzer as her heart thumped in her chest. What was she doing? She ought to have just let Liam walk away, but the thought made her heart freeze. She didn’t want him to leave. But she didn’t exactly want him to stay, either. Cecily quickly checked her reflection in her foyer mirror, patting down an errant bit of blond hair, and frowning at her shiny forehead. Oh, well. Too late to do anything about that now. She heard heavy steps outside. She swung open the door and Liam was standing on her landing, looking even more gorgeous than he had last night.
He wore jeans and a plain black T-shirt that clung to his defined chest, his muscled shoulders stretching the fabric to its limits. He held her phone in his big hand, and she remembered exactly what those hands had felt like on her body the night before. Gentle, yet strong. He studied her with his serious brown eyes, his dirty blond hair looking perfectly combed, which made her want to put her hands in it.
“Hey,” she said, voice lower than she intended. She kept the door mostly closed, feeling Tripp still near her legs. Sometimes he’d bolt if she let the door open too wide, and then she’d have to lure him back with the offer of treats. He had an adventurous spirit, that cat. Hard to keep inside.
“Hey. So, I found your phone on my counter.” He handed it to her, and she took it, the phone feeling heavy and cold in her hands. He stared at her a beat and she wondered what else she’d seen there. She glanced downward.
“Thanks. I, uh...” I’m sorry for sneaking out? I should’ve at least said goodbye? She didn’t know what to say.
He stared at her, waiting. He made no move to leave, nor did she want him to.
“Want to come in?”
“Do you want me to?” he asked. Touché.
She nodded, as she gently moved her cat backward with the heel of her foot. She left the door open a bit, and he slid through. He spied the cat on the floor and raised his eyebrows.
“Hi, Tripp,” he said.
“You remembered my cat’s name?” she asked, surprised. She’d only mentioned it once, she thought, during her nervous babbling the night before.
“I remember everything you said. I pay attention.” He flashed her a smile, and suddenly Cecily felt warm. She wondered if that meant he remembered everything she’d shouted in his bed the night before, too.
Tripp seemed to take an unusual interest in Liam. “He must smell Molly on you,” she said.
“Maybe our two cats would fall in love,” he joked, and she laughed a little.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” she said, and then immediately regretted it. She didn’t think they had a future. Had no intention for their cats ever to meet. “Uh, have you always liked cats?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.
“My mom loved them,” he said. “She had three Persians.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised. “Those are usually expensive cats.”
“Yeah.” The tone of his voice suggested that he wasn’t interested in answering more questions about his mother and her cats. Maybe she bred them, Cecily thought. Or maybe she’d picked them up at a shelter. They might not have been purebred Persians. And Cecily wasn’t one to pry. She moved to the kitchen. “Want something to drink? Tea? Wine?” And then, after a beat, added, “Whiskey?” It was a joke, and she expected Liam to laugh, but he didn’t.
Liam shook his head as he followed her to her gray, granite-topped eat-in kitchen. “You drink whiskey?” His tone was serious. He stood near her glass-front white-framed cabinets in her modern condo, leaning his big body against her fridge.
“My father loved the stuff. I guess I inherited his tastes. He passed away a couple of years ago from a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I guess we’re both fatherless.”
“I guess we are.” Liam crossed his arms across his chest. “And no whiskey for me. Not yet. It’s too early.”
“Yeah, I know. It was a joke,” she said, but felt that awkwardness wanting to creep in again, that reminder that they were still two strangers, that despite having spent the night together, they were still learning things about one another—like how humor worked between them.
“Oh.” He looked a little sheepish. “Right.”
“Water, then?”
“Sure.” She poured him a glass and then they stood awkwardly for a second in her kitchen. She wondered if she should offer him a seat on her couch, but then it just suddenly seemed too odd. Mere hours ago, they’d been naked, entwined in his bed, and now, in the bright light of day, that memory faded. She didn’t like the feeling. “Want to sit?” she asked him, moving into her small living room.
Tripp, she saw, had already taken up roost on her chair, wrapping himself into a tidy little circle, watching them both with amusement. That left only the small love seat. It would be a tight squeeze with the both of them. Cecily couldn’t help but think Tripp had done it on purpose. After all, he usually picked the love seat corner for his day naps. The cat, however, simply cocked his head to one side and yawned, feigning innocence. She took a seat first, and he followed. They sat together on the love seat, facing the switched-off flat-screen TV against the wall, their featureless reflections in it. Cecily was more than aware of how close together they were on the couch, how his big knees were so close to her own. If she shifted just a little bit, their legs would touch. She almost felt as if she were holding her breath for what might come next.
“Thank you for bringing my phone back,” she said, trying to get some control over the moment.
“You’re welcome. I hope you don’t mind I looked through it. To get your address.”
She shrugged. “What’s done is done.”
He put down his water on her glass-topped coffee table. “There is one thing I wanted to ask you.” He shifted toward her, and his knee bumped hers. The contact sent a jolt all the way up her spine.
“Yes?” She glanced at his stark, honest brown eyes. His dirty blond hair threatening to fall across his forehead. She studied his full lips and his rugged jaw.
“How bad is the cancer?”