David lay in bed with Penny spooned against him. He hadn't moved a muscle for nearly an hour now. It was late, but he knew he wouldn't fall asleep again. He couldn't stop thinking about what she had said when he'd awakened next to her earlier.

"I don't understand you."

She'd whispered it, her voice so low that he had to strain to understand. He'd tried to play it off lightly, but her words had set the alarm bells ringing in his head. And then she'd started crying. He'd kissed her tears away - first her eyes, then her mouth - and she'd allowed him to soothe her. She'd wrapped her arms around his neck again and laced her fingers into his hair, and her tears were all gone by the time they'd finished with each other once again.

She slept peacefully beside him now. He could feel the even rise and fall of her breathing as she lay encircled in his arms. He wanted to believe that the storm had passed. Whatever had made her sad before - he'd managed to reassure her. But he couldn't set aside memory of the tears running down her cheeks. He couldn't silence the endless stream of questions running through his mind.

"I don't understand you."

What did it mean? Was she having doubts? Second thoughts? Had he gone to bed with her too quickly? Would she regret it in the morning? Was this all he would ever have with her? One night with Penelope, before she pulled away from him again?

His arms tightened around her possessively at the thought.  He felt the rhythm of her breathing change.

"Shhhhh," he whispered against her hair. He wasn't ready for her to wake. Not yet. He needed more time to figure out what those tears had meant, but it was too late now. He felt her weight shift. Then she turned in his arms to face him.

"You're not sleeping?" she mumbled drowsily. She sighed, and then she pressed her face into the crook of his neck.

"Shhhhh," he whispered again, rocking her gently in his arms. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

She lifted her face and looked up at him, her voice more alert now. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "All good. Very, very good."

She touched his cheek. "Look at me."

He'd kept his eyes carefully aimed at the bedside table over her shoulder, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes narrowed in a silent question. There was something more she needed from him. He understood that much. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was she wanted to hear.

"What's wrong?" she asked again. She reached behind her to switch on the bedside lamp.

"Nothing," he protested, blinking against the glare. His fingers itched to switch the light back off - to return them both to the safe cover of darkness. He wasn't ready for this conversation. He needed more time to think. He needed to go over everything she'd said to him - every expression that had crossed her face - and make sense of it all. Plan his next move. If he said the wrong thing, he might make it all worse. She might slip right through his fingers again. The thought made his chest clench with anxiety.

"David?"

"I don't know. I-Penny, I don't understand you either."

"What don't you understand?"

"Why were you upset before?"

She shrugged. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He gripped the nape of her neck with both of his hands, weaving his fingers through her hair. "Tell me what's wrong. I need you to tell me."

"Nothing. I just-I'm just a little unclear on what this is. That's all."

"What this is...."

"Is it just tonight?" Her voice rose a little higher as she spoke. "I mean, that's OK. I'm OK. I can just re-book my flight and-"

"No!"

The word came out so forcefully that he'd shaken her. She paused in mid-sentence and looked at him in surprise.  "No?"

"No." He shook his head. "No no no."

"Oh."

"No," he said again.

"What, then?"

"Stay. Here."

"That's what you want?"

"Yes."

She was silent, waiting for him to say something more. But what? Were there some magic words? Some incantation he needed to recite? His mind had gone competely blank under her scrutiny. "I want you to stay here," he repeated himself.

She still didn't reply. She just looked back at him, her eyes widening.

"What?" he asked in frustration.

"It's just a little... vague. That's all."

"Vague."

"You want me to stay here."

"I want you to stay in New York. Don't go back to Minnesota."

She sighed and wiped a hand across her eyes. "I don't have anywhere to live," she said.

"You can live here."

"With you?"

"Right." He nodded. "I would also live here. Presumably."

"So we would live together?"

"Yes. Or..." The look on her face had just grown wary. "Or not," he continued. "Or you could live somewhere else. Brooklyn, for example-"

"You want me to live in Brooklyn?"

"No, I don't want you to live in Brooklyn. But if you want to live in Brooklyn-"

"I can't," she interrupted.

"OK. Forget Brooklyn. I hate Brooklyn."

"You don't understand."

"Yes," he agreed. "That seems to be the general theme."

"I don't have any money, David."

"OK. What does that have to do with-"

"I mean, no money," she interrupted. "None. I can't pay rent. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs."

"Student debt?"

"No." He saw a faint flush rise to her cheeks. Her eyes flitted away from his. "Credit card debt," she mumbled.

He looked at her in surprise, thrown off balance by her words. Credit card debt? It was the biggest red flag of them all. He'd seen it enough times to recognize the symptoms: the girls living on a secretary's salary who still managed to strut around with a different designer purse every week. He knew how they operated. So deep in debt that they could never hope to dig their way out, but they didn't lose any sleep over it. They just figured they'd marry some Prince Charming with a nice fat wallet, and he'd wave his magic wand and make it all go away.

But Penny had never been like that. Penny had come to work carrying the same worn out old black handbag, every single day since she first started. "How are you in credit card debt?"

"I don't know." Her voice sounded tired now. Defeated. "Nevermind," she said. "It's not your problem."

He felt her hands pushing lightly on his chest, and he released his grip. She sat up in the bed and pulled the sheet up to cover herself. He sat up next to her, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. "What do you mean, you don't know? How are you in credit card debt?"

"I made some ill-advised purchases."

He turned his head to study her, wrinkling his forehead. Credit card debt. It didn't make sense. It didn't fit with everything he thought he knew about her. He racked his mind, trying to remember a single time when he'd seen her with some exorbitant purchase. "Was it the sweater?" he asked.

"What sweater?"

"The red one. Cashmere. The one you wore that day-" She looked at him blankly. "Nevermind," he said. "It doesn't matter." He waved his hand to dismiss the topic. She was young. She made mistakes. It didn't change the way he felt about her. "It doesn't matter," he repeated more firmly. "You can live here. Rent-free."

She'd been looking down, studying her hands, but she glanced over at his face now. "You mean, like... temporarily? Or...."

"No." He shook his head again. "Wow, we're bad at this."

"Bad at what?"

He took a deep breath and gathered himself to try again. "OK. Let me lay it out for you. I love you. You love me." He darted a quick look at her face, but she didn't contradict him. She nodded hesitantly. "Good. So we should be together. We should be in a relationship."

"A relationship," she repeated.

"Yes. A relationship. A long-term relationship.  Of a romantic nature."

She looked at him quizzically. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Because I know you have a rule against shacking up."

"Again with the rules," he muttered. "Forget the rules, OK? Just forget I ever said any of those things."

She shook her head and blinked. And blinked again. Was she starting to tear up again? Shit. Was it the rules? She'd been saying something about the rules just before she started crying before.

"What other rules are you violating?" she'd asked him. And he'd answered her by playing with her hair - her pretty long blond hair. "Natural blond," she'd said. "You know it's natural right?" And then the tears had started falling. That was why, he realized. That was what he needed to make her understand.

He touched her face, tipping her chin toward him. "Penny, about the rules...."

"I know I'm not your type," she said quietly.

"No, it's not about types. You are my type, by the way."

"You don't have to pretend-"

"How do I explain this? About the rules.... " He sighed, struggling to frame his thoughts into coherent sentences. The rules. They were practically a religion, the way he had clung to them like a security blanket all these years. And now he was ready to throw them all out the window. Throw caution to the wind, and shack up with a 24-year-old homeless unemployed blond shopaholic. It went against everything he'd ever said he was looking for - at least on paper.

He didn't quite understand the reasoning himself. He needed time to think - to come up with the right words to explain it. But he could see her eyes welling up now. He didn't have the luxury of time. He was just going to have to wing it. His mind cast about for something - some explanation that she might be able to relate to.

"See, the rules were just a framework," he said slowly. "A model. A template. An exercise in risk minimization."

"Excuse me?"

"You know," he continued. "Risk minimization. Like those risk analyses you used to help me pull together."

She didn't reply. She only raised her eyebrows slightly as he continued on, warming to his subject. Risk analysis. She knew about risk analysis. He couldn't even count how many times they'd worked late together, putting the finishing touches on one of those spreadsheets. "You remember," he said to her. "When a client was considering a company for acquisition, the first step was to perform the risk analysis. Number of years in business... Market cap... EBITDA... Assets and liabilities.... You know. Risk analysis."

"Yes, I'm familiar with the term."

"Right, so-"

"OK, David. Do you want to see my tax returns?"

"I don't mean it literally."

"Let's see. Years in business? 24. Assets? Zero. Liabilities? Astronomical-"

"Penny, it's just an analogy."

"This is not a corporate merger."

"I know. I'm just saying-" He let out a huff of exasperation. "I'm trying to say that it's scary for me. Relationships are scary for me. I don't want to get attached to the wrong person and have it blow up in my face, so I made a bunch of rules to try to minimize the risk-"

"So now you're OK with getting attached to the wrong person?"

"No. Now I think you're the right person. I was possibly being a little too rigid in my thinking."

"You, David? Rigid?"

David squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Risk minimization. Why had he just said all of that?

"This is not a corporate merger."

Of all the metaphors he could have chosen....

He should have stuck to writing her letters. Letters were much safer. Letters could be edited. Letters could be balled up and thrown in the trash. He'd gone through about fourteen drafts before he'd finally been satisfied with that recommendation letter he gave her. What had he been thinking, trying to have this conversation with her now, in the middle of the night, without even planning out what he was going to say? She hadn't been pissed at him before, but now she was. Now she was furious. He buried his face in his hands, his mind racing for anything he could say to undo the damage.

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