You snowed in, dear boy?
It had come in a few moments ago, so I answered her.
Yes.
Going crazy? Or is the Courvoisier keeping you sane?
I smirked.
I’ve spent the day in my sleep pants and a T-shirt, playing games, eating pancakes and chips, and having a sex talk with a seventeen-year-old while we shoveled snow. So far, it’s been highly enjoyable.
I’m sorry. I thought this was Dylan Maxwell.
Of course, it’s me.
The Dylan Maxwell I know would never play games or eat chips. He dislikes pancakes, and he is far too snooty for lounge pants, T-shirts, or snow shoveling. I won’t even address the sex talk.
I wondered what she would think if I told her about kissing Alex. And wanting to kiss her again.
Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.
Or perhaps . . . you didn’t know yourself as well as YOU thought.
Stop with the mumbo jumbo, woman. You told me to try new things. I’m trying. And guess what?
What?
I love tater tots. Can you get me some for my condo? I’m not sure where one purchases them. You have to ask Alex how to make her casserole too. It’s awesome.
I think it’s a good thing I’m retiring. I don’t think I can take this change in you.
Whatever.
Well, it’s definitely you, rude man. But I think I approve of these changes.
Just going with the flow.
Words I never thought I would hear from you. On that note, I’m going to get a drink. I think I need to lie down.
I’m going to have a nap, then have dinner with Alex and the kids. I’m hoping for pie.
Nap? Kids? Pie? When the real Dylan Maxwell shows up, ask him to get in touch.
I started to laugh.
See you in a few days.
Be safe, Dylan. Let me know if you need anything.
I stared at the screen. There was nothing I could think of that I needed or wanted. Right now, it was all right there. I signed off simply:
Talk soon.
At six o’clock, I knocked on the door to Alex’s . . . place. I wasn’t sure what to call it. Apartment? Hotel room? Ten minutes after she opened the door and I was on her sofa, I knew exactly what to call it.
Her home.
She had taken two large rooms and made a modest quarter for her family. A tiny but functional kitchen held an old wooden table that was set for dinner. The rest of the space was filled with furniture and toys, books and games. Noelle dragged me into the next room and showed me her “princess place”—a bedroom full of frills and tulle, dolls, and pink things. There was the usual hotel functional bathroom and the smallest bedroom I’d ever seen, if you could even call it that. More like a closet. It held a single bed, a stand-up lamp, and a tiny dresser, and it was where Alex slept. I knew she hadn’t meant for me to see it, but Noelle had been thorough in her tour. I nodded and smiled, even though I was horrified at the thought of Alex having so little space or comfort for herself. Seth, Alex told me when I returned to the living room and accepted a glass of wine from her, lived in the room across the hall, giving him the privacy he needed.