Graham had stayed awake much longer than he wanted or intended, and he knew he was waiting to see when and if Cressida came home.

She still hadn't returned by the time he drifted off, sometime around two in the morning.

Cressida, for her part, had quietly walked by Graham's open window when she came home, around two thirty in the morning, and for some reason the knowledge that he was inside sleeping had given her comfort.

She wondered how he slept. On his side, legs tucked up? Spread all over the bed in wild abandon? What did he wear? And how did he look, with his dreamy eyes shut, beautiful lips—what? Parted or closed?

She said a soft goodnight to Josh on the sidewalk, pecking the corner of his mouth, and let herself in, treading lightly on the stairs as she climbed the three flights to her apartment.

The next morning, Graham had a slight headache, probably because of the wine and beer. He made the coffee extra strong, hoping it would take the edge off. He took it out to the back garden, hoping and not hoping that Cressida would be there.

Cressida was absent, but Mikey was out there, on her knees while she pulled weeds.

"Good morning," she said when she saw him come out.

"Morning."

"You're up nice and early today, aren't you? Need to get started on something?"

Graham shook his head. "More of the same, just practicing."

"Well, that's nice, then." Mikey continued to chatter on as Graham sat, sipping his coffee. Her voice was soothing, like rich, bubbling broth forming the background to Graham's own thoughts.

Suddenly a voice called from the third floor window. "Morning, Mikey, you want me to bring you some tea? I'm coming down in a sec." Cressida couldn't see Graham where he was sitting, the table was too close to the building.

He didn't want to admit to himself that he was happy and relieved that she seemed to be alone.

"No thank you, dear, I'm just about finished for today. My old knees can't take more than an hour or so of this, you know."

"'Kay."

Mikey was just dusting herself off when they heard Cressida's light step on the stairs. The door opened and she came out, clutching a mug of steaming tea in one hand and her laptop in the other. She stopped short when she saw Graham sitting, and she might have gone back inside, but Mikey waved her over.

"Come, have a seat, I was just going in," she assured her.

Cressida sat cautiously in the other chair as Mikey smiled at her.

"Oh, Graham, would you mind getting down a bag of mulch from inside the shed before you go in?" Mikey asked from the door. "I need to get it spread out tomorrow."

"No problem," he assured her.

"Thanks, dear. Going to be another hot day today, isn't it?" And she was gone, leaving the two young people alone.

As usual, Cressida had her long hair in a messy bun, with a few tendrils escaping and curling around her neck, giving it a vulnerable look. Today she was wearing shorts, and Graham noticed that she had very nice legs, toned and tan. He wondered if she exercised.

Cressida felt his eyes on her and turned to face him a little more. As usual, when she hadn't seen him for a while, his good looks startled her. His brown hair was still disheveled from sleep, curling around his ears and his neck, and he had a bit of stubble that he hadn't had the day before. His strong arms rested on the table, one hand curling around his coffee cup, and Cressida could see that his long, artistic fingers tapered to nicely kept nails, which only made sense.

"Did you get some good practicing in last night? After dinner?" she asked politely.

"What? No, last night wasn't good," he responded, blinking hooded eyes at her. "Some days nothing goes right."

"I'm sorry."

"How about you, I heard you go out. Did you have a nice time on your date?" He took a swallow of his coffee.

"Oh, it wasn't a date, Josh and I are just friends," Cressida answered with a little laugh.

"I don't know, when you get a call that late at night, it usually only means one thing," Graham said with a sardonic grin.

"What? How do you even know when he called?" Cressida was aghast. "I mean, for all you know, I could've had it planned for days, or weeks, even."

Graham, not wanting to admit that he'd been eavesdropping, was silent.

But Cressida wasn't in a mood to let it go. "How did you know?" she pressed.

Graham finally shrugged. "One of the perils of living in the same building, I guess. Not a lot of privacy."

"I really don't think how or with whom I spend my evenings is any of your fucking business," Cressida said, eyes blazing.

"If that's how you feel, maybe you should be a little quieter when you come and go," Graham replied, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, you're infuriating!" Cressida pursed her lips together, clutching her mug much too tightly. "I was quiet on purpose when I left and when I came home, for your information. I didn't want to wake—to wake—Mikey."

"Mikey's practically deaf, and she sleeps like the dead, I don't think you have to worry about waking her up," Graham informed her.

Cressida wanted desperately to know if Graham had been awake when she came home, if he'd been waiting up for her, but of course she couldn't ask.

"Look," Graham continued, sitting back and crossing his arms, "I honestly don't care 'how or with whom' you spend your evenings—" his imitation of her was spot on "—I'm just saying that if you could keep it down just a little, your bootie calls wouldn't be public knowledge, that's all."

"IT WASN'T A BOOTIE CALL!" Cressida nearly shouted. "We went to a late movie, then to get ice cream."

Graham held up his hands. "Hey, you don't have to tell me anything, it's none of my business."

"My. Point. Exactly." Cressida picked up her mug as she rose. "Don't forget the mulch." She stomped into the house without saying goodbye, and moments later Graham heard her running up the stairs.

He sighed.

He knew he shouldn't have needled her, but it was so easy to do. He got the mulch down and leaned it against the fence. He picked up his coffee cup and went back to his apartment, debating whether or not to take a shower before beginning practice, since he was always a dripping mess by the time he finished.

Upstairs, Cressida put her mug in the sink and gripped the edge of the counter, hard.

How, how had that conversation gone off the rails so quickly? All she'd done was ask how his practicing had gone, and five minutes later she was yelling in his face.

Whatever, she knew she was right, it was none of his business if she wanted to go out at ten o'clock at night. If she wanted someone keeping track of her comings and goings, she would've remained living at home with her parents.

Oh, but Graham was aggravating. Just then, as if knowing her thoughts, she heard the piano from downstairs, the requisite scales for warm up before he began working on his pieces.

Cressida remained where she was, just listening to him, imagining what he looked like when sat at the keyboard, pounding away. Probably the tendons in his forearms really popped, and he probably had a really intense look on his face, maybe like when he was in bed with someone—

What on earth was she doing?