She leaned on the door behind her and listened as he descended the stairs.
Her hand went unconsciously to her cheek, touched the spot that was still slightly wet from his lips. She shivered as she thought about what it might've been like if she had turned her head towards him at the last second.
"I'll call you sometime," he said, not meeting her eyes. She'd watched for a second as he started down the stairs, then unlocked her door and slipped inside, locking the deadbolt behind her.
Her phone lay on the coffee table, flashing that it had a message. She hadn't taken it with to the coffee shop.
"Hi, Syd," Danny's voice said, "Where are you? I'm out having a smoke on the roof and I thought I'd call you to say, it's a beautiful afternoon here in Chicago. Maybe 70 degrees, light wind, and the trees in Grant Park are just starting to turn colors. Anyway, call me if you have time—love you, miss you, all that stuff. And, ah… break a leg. Just kidding—bye."
She snapped the phone shut and went into the bedroom. She stripped off her jeans and underwear and left them puddled in the walkway, undid the ties on the sweater and shimmied out of it. Her top was thrown on the end of the bed and she slid between the sheets, naked. She didn't usually wear a bra, she was so flat. She raised her head a smidgen and drew the ponytail holder from her hair, feeling the heavy, wet knot of her bun slowly untwist.
She lay very still, feeling the heat of her body warming the cool, smooth sheets. She had left the bedroom window open and the smell of the deep fryer from a pub down the block was carried in the window by the light autumnal breeze.
She counted her ribs, touching each one with her fingertip, and imagined what his hand would feel like instead of her own. It was something she did when she couldn't sleep—the counting. She could even see them above her breasts, to each side of her sternum.