Chapter 16: Sunday

I woke up to an automated email from Pittsburgh University and the smell of cinnamon. I read the email as I brushed my teeth—it instructed me to upload my RN license and take an online test. I shared the news about my application with Steve over a French toast breakfast.

"Grad school," he repeated before taking a sip of coffee. "That's commendable."

He was still wearing his running gear from his morning jog. He'd admitted that he didn't have the heart to wake me up early.

I shrugged as though grad school wasn't a big deal. "I'm excited."

He locked eyes with me as I took a particularly large bite. "Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania?"

I chewed and talked behind my hand. "All the classes are online. If I get in, I'll need to get clinical hours in a laboratory," I explained, swallowing. "Which will hopefully be the lab at my hospital."

"I see," Steve said with a relieved smile.

He did the dishes while I set up my laptop to quickly take the test. To my relief, there were only thirty questions, all nursing-related. I nibbled on my blunt fingernails as I clicked through the questions. One of them even required a dosage calculation.

I was so focused on finishing the exam within the allotted time that I hardly noticed Steve coming into the living room. He sat on the opposite end of the couch as I furiously typed out the remaining answers. I submitted the test with thirty seconds to spare.

"Whew," I breathed, closing the webpage. I took off my reading glasses before looking up at Steve. He sat on one, long leg with the other stretched out on the couch cushion between us. He scribbled away in a journal that was perched in his hands.

"What are you doing?" I asked immediately.

"Kate…"

I pulled my reading glasses off and looked up, surprised that I hadn't noticed Steve come into the living room. He was sitting on the opposite end of the couch since my legs were stretched over the middle cushion.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," he said with a glint in his eye.

An awkward laugh tumbled out of me. "Only on the computer," I muttered, glancing at the time remaining on my exam. "To make words sharper."

He hummed in understanding and left. When he returned, I was down to the wire on time and didn't acknowledge him. The last five questions were short-answer style, so I typed them out as fast as humanly possible. I submitted the test with thirty seconds to spare.

"Whew," I breathed, closing the webpage. I took off my glasses before looking up at Steve. He sat with his legs crossed, writing something in a journal. I balked at the unusual sight.

"What are you doing?"

He glanced up at me before continuing to scribble. "I'm drawing you."

I looked away and crossed my arms. "Really?"

"Really," he said.

Feeling utterly harassed, I chewed on the inside of my lip. "As long as I can see it after…"

"Naturally." I found a cheeky smile on his face as his eyes continued to focus on the page. When he glanced up again, he said, "And put those glasses back on."

A hot wave of embarrassment washed over me as I replaced my glasses. Unable to look him in the eye, I dropped my gaze to my laptop. The homepage of Google stared blankly back at me. I clicked on the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button to entertain myself. It turned out that cats can fall five and a half stories without being injured, and Russia just dispatched troops to Crimea.

After a minute or two, Steve leaned forward and offered the journal to me.

I took it like it was water in the desert. The pencil sketch looked like he'd spent hours on it. It was just the face of a girl with dark eyes and hair wearing thick-rimmed glasses, looking off to the side with her lips slightly parted.

I breathed out and gestured to the page incredulously. "You didn't tell me you were this good."

Standing to his feet, Steve laughed in a self-deprecating tone. "I'm a better sketcher than a painter, I can tell you that." I reached up to remove my glasses, but he stopped me. "And you didn't tell me how cute you look with glasses..."

His face was blurry when I looked up at him. His fingers brushed my cheek, and I had to look down. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, and I felt a blush work its way up my cheeks as I stared at the drawing in my hands. Before I could turn to the previous page in his sketchbook, it slipped out of my hands.

Steve snapped it shut with finality as he walked into the kitchen. "I saw an ad in the paper for a flea market down in Georgetown."

The sudden change of topic jarred me.

"Oh."

I popped up off the couch and joined him in the kitchen, glancing over the open newspaper on the counter there. "Are you interested in going?" I asked.

"I thought you enjoyed that kind of thing."

I looked over at him and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I love old stuff."

The wry smile on his face made me rethink what I had said. Oh, shi—

"That settles it." Steve came around the counter to look at the paper with me while I fought back another blush. "Unless you'd rather go sightseeing," he murmured in a voice that was far too seductive to be intentional.

I didn't dare look up at him, fearing that I might spontaneously combust. "This looks great," I croaked.

It was a clear, spring day in Washington, D.C. I hung on to Steve as we rode to the flea market. Thankfully, there wasn't much traffic on the route we took to Georgetown. Tents and tables filled a large, paved courtyard—it was nicer than any street market I'd seen in NYC. Older people moseyed around in search of treasures and tourists browsed with cameras and wallets at the ready.

"I think you need a feature for your apartment," I told Steve as we walked down a row of tents. The smell of funnel cake lingered in the air.

"Agreed." He nodded as his eyes scanned the stalls. The sunlight made his hair look golden.

After a minute, I took his arm to veer us over to a household goods shop. The old lady behind the table nodded to us before returning to a conversation. She mostly had dishes and dusty knick-knacks—nothing unique.

"See anything you like?" Steve asked, using his finger to turn a tacky, ceramic carousel.

"Nah," I whispered.

Something caught my eye at the very last second. I picked up a coffee mug that had a picture of an ugly, blonde baby on it with the words "It's Coffee Time." The baby wasn't even smiling. "Steve," I said, swatting blindly at his arm. "Look at this."

"Oh, gosh." His eyebrows drew together as he took it in. "It's hideous."

"I know, right?" I laughed, holding it up to look for chips. The bottom was stamped with the year and location of manufacture: New Jersey, 1952. "Oh, I'm getting this for sure."

Finding something for Steve's apartment wasn't as easy. When all hope seemed to be lost between creepy porcelain dolls and grimy coin collections, we found a tent selling vinyls. Two older, stoic gentlemen manned the shop. I eyed their record player under the table as I thumbed through neatly organized record boxes.

"Is that for sale?" I asked the closest gentleman, pointing to the modern turntable. It was playing a Beatles album.

His gray mustache wiggled in thought. "Can be," he rumbled.

I pulled my purse higher on my shoulder as he squared me up from behind dark sunglasses. "I'll give you $30 for it," I told him.

"Thirty?" He gave a raspy laugh. "It's worth at least $40."

I glanced at Steve, who was looking through some records at the opposite end of the tent. "Thirty-five?" I closely watched the man's reaction. "Thirty-six," I corrected with a snap of my fingers.

He finally broke a smile. "Alright, that's a deal."

Steve returned as I counted out my cash onto the table. The gentleman swiped it away once it reached the proper amount.

"Your girlfriend here drives a hard bargain," he said, nodding to Steve as he joined us. I nearly choked at the word girlfriend.

Steve looked at me strangely. "What did you buy?"

His question was answered when the record player slammed onto the table in front of us, its cord wagging wildly. The vendor used careful fingers to remove the slowly spinning vinyl. "Not getting this with it," he chuckled. "We don't do freebies here. Do we, John?"

His companion seemed to stir out of an open-eyed nap. "No siree, Bob," chimed John.

"Appreciate it," I said with a smile, tucking the record player under my arm.

I leaned over to spy on the record Steve was holding. It was an album called "The Kitty Kallen Collection." The tracklist included "It's Been a Long, Long Time" and "I'm Beginning to See the Light."

"Found this gem," he said softly.

"Bob" asked us where we were from as Steve paid. We both looked at each other before answering.

"Brooklyn."

"Minneapolis."

Bob grunted as he pulled the record out of the sleeve, no doubt looking for scratches that we might find later. "East meets Midwest," he said gruffly. "Well, good luck to you both."

Steve took the record and then the man's outstretched hand in a firm handshake. "Thank you, sir."

His words stuck with me as we ate lunch at a little sandwich shop. I held back from asking Steve about the "g" word. I hated labels and got the feeling that he hated them too. So I didn't mention it, and he didn't either.

Instead, we discussed topics like the flaws in modern healthcare and the pervasive influence of social media. We did some street walking to continue our conversation. Small businesses lined the cobblestone streets that lead down to the Potomac River. The breeze by the water kept us cool as we sat on a sunny park bench, talking about capitalism of all things. Steve could talk about rocks and I would hang on his every word.

The whole time, I tried to ignore the twist in my gut at the thought of leaving tomorrow.

By the time we returned to the apartment, the sun was setting. Despite Steve's resistance, I ordered Chinese food for delivery so he wouldn't have to cook. We ate and opened a bottle of wine before I remembered the record player. The best place for it turned out to be his dresser in the bedroom. We sat on the ground at the bottom of the bed as we listened to the grainy, jazzy music.

"I never made love by lanternshine
I never saw rainbows in my wine
But now that your lips are burning mine
I'm beginning to see the light—"

"Music this old makes me want to sit in an armchair and smoke a cigarette," I said absently, sipping my third glass of wine.

Steve chuckled with a faraway look in his eye, as if the song had transported him back in time. "You don't smoke, do you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Never. But I think it looks cool." I lifted my hand, holding an invisible cigarette to my lips. Fueled by the wine, my imagination filled my lungs with fiery heat when I breathed in.

"I smoked for a year," Steve mumbled, "in art school." He pinched the bridge of his nose as if recalling embarrassing memories. "It made my asthma act up, but...I wanted to fit in so bad."

"I get that," I said, nodding. I tried to picture a young, slim Steve smoking by a rain-streaked window, sketchbook in hand. I smiled at the mental image. "I bet you looked really cool."

Steve shook his head emphatically. "My mother hated it."

I laughed. "She was a nurse, right?"

He caught my gaze with a sheepish smile. "You remembered."

I smiled over at him. "I remember a lot about you," I said quietly.

The sudden uncertainty in his eyes made me see past his tough exterior to the soft romantic underneath. His lips parted to say something, and then he sighed in exasperation. "Come here," he whispered, reaching for the back of my head.

"Mmm—"

My hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders before settling on his neck. He kissed me like he had last night—passionately and deeply. I clung to him as the room started spinning like a top. I had to break away just to gulp down some oxygen.

"I...I shouldn't've had that third glass of wine."

Breathing out a laugh, Steve raised a hand to my face. "I think that was your fourth, Kate."

"Damn it," I laughed. I closed my eyes and placed our foreheads together. I was getting so lightheaded that my fingers tingled. I should put myself to bed. "But I'm leaving tomorrow," I practically whined.

Steve sighed. "I'll be back in New York before you know it," he said. "I promise."

Pulling back a few inches, I looked at him with pleading eyes. I couldn't really find the words that I wanted to say. He just smiled at me.

"Get ready for bed and I'll take care of the kitchen," he instructed gently. "I'll come and say goodnight."

I heaved a sigh. The temptation of laying down was too great. "Okay."

I switched off the record player before going into the master bathroom. Leaving the door open, I listened to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I silently regretted not staying longer. If I didn't have work on Tuesday...

I laid on top of the covers as I waited for Steve to return. The only light in the room was a sliver of yellow streaming in from the living room. It vanished just before Steve appeared in the doorway, leaving the room totally dark except for the city lights leaking through the curtains.

Just like the night before, Steve sat beside me on the bed. I reached blindly for him and smiled when his hand found mine. My eyes adjusted enough to see just the outline of him. I resisted the urge to say something very, very sappy.

"'Night, Kate," he said softly.

When he leaned down to kiss me, I eagerly wrapped my arms around his neck. He clearly didn't intend to make out with me because he pulled away almost immediately. Ignoring better judgment, I tightened my grip on his neck. His hands closed around my wrists, poised to pull me off of him, but he froze when I started speaking.

"Can we just...cuddle for a little bit?"

Even wine-drunk, I knew I was pushing my luck. I sensed his conflict as he slowly finished freeing himself. Even though I could barely see him, I felt the weight of his eyes through the dimness.

"Sure," he finally said.

It wasn't quite how I pictured our first time in bed together, but, in some ways, it was better. A thrill went through me as he climbed into bed and laid beside me. He put one arm under his head and slid the other under my shoulders. I nestled against his side, and his hand squeezed my arm when he asked if I was comfortable. I hummed contentedly—it wasn't too different from when we had gotten cozy on the couch together.

My free hand settled on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat under my fingers, and my mind subconsciously calculated the rate. My eyebrows drew together.

"Your heart is racing," I whispered.

"Yeah," Steve breathed. "I know."

I moved my hand up to cup his face; his weekend stubble scratched my palm. I blinked into the darkness, trying to picture his expression. "It's been awhile for you, hasn't it?" I asked gently.

He let out a forceful sigh. "You have no idea."

I let my hand trail down his neck and back across his chest. I felt his breath hitch at the simple gesture. A thought suddenly occurred to me that simultaneously made sense and blew my mind.

"Steve, have you…? Um. Are—are you…?"

A virgin?

I heard a noise that made me glance up at him. His hand was covering his face, and I could practically picture the blush peeking through his fingers. "I'm glad it's dark right now," he said with a breathless laugh.

I laid back down, suddenly feeling like I had violated some unspoken boundary. I wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and erase them from my memory. Then, as the awkward silence stretched, I realized I needed to share something deeply personal in return.

"I've only had sex with one person. My ex, Jeremy," I rambled. "I think I told you about him."

"Let's just...stop talking," Steve muttered. "I don't want to think about that right now."

Feeling immediate guilt settle in, I stayed quiet. I tried to ignore that awkward exchange in favor of recalling the nice day that we'd shared. The memory of him reaching for my hand as we walked, the moment we exchanged a knowing glance at the restaurant, the simple joy of listening to music with him…

I'm leaving tomorrow.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I did my best to ignore the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.