Page 46 of Madam, May I

Desdemona looked up from the book she was reading as she lay on her belly on the soft plush rug before her lit fireplace. She pressed the button on her iPhone to check the time. It was a little after seven.

Loren? Couldn’t be.

She assumed their normal tutoring session was canceled for the holidays.

Room service? No. She’d gotten so lost in the book she’d forgotten to order dinner.

Who knew I was a reader?

Rolling over, she softly closed the book on her finger, marking her place as she rose from the floor and padded barefoot across the living room to the foyer. She checked the peephole, and her breath caught at the sight of Loren.

She leaned back from the peephole with her free hand still splayed on the door as she fought to recover from her surprise. She caught herself touching her curls to make sure they weren’t too wild, but shook her head and smiled away her concern. With Loren—her friend Lo—she could always be herself. No pretense.

Desdemona opened the door, leaning against it as she eyed him. “Something other than kicks? Surprise, surprise,” she teased, taking in his bright orange V-neck sweater worn with a camel leather bomber, denims, and Timberland boots. His hair was braided and hidden beneath an army green skull cap. Spectacles ever in place.

He looked down at the book in her hand as he stepped inside the apartment. “Colson Whitehead’sUnderground Railroad. Surprise, surprise,” he said, tapping the hardcover with his finger before he swung his designer book bag from his shoulder.

Desdemona clutched the book to her chest as she closed the door. “I have to look up some of the words but... I’m enjoying it,” she said, ever surprised at how bashful she felt around him concerning her lack of education. “If our tutoring sessions weren’t coming to an end I would ask you to read along with me like we did the Bradbury book.”

Loren removed his coat. “You’ve come a long way,” he said. “You don’t need me. Plus, I’ve already read it.”

“Figures,” she said, reaching for his coat to hang in the closet before leading him into the living room.

“Well, this book of his, in particular, is exactly what I imagined myself writing when I got my undergrad history degree and then an MFA in creative writing,” he said, removing papers from his book bag. “Now I’m pursing my doctorate.”

Impressive.

“How do you jump from history to writing?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder as she tucked the book under her arm and walked into the kitchen to grab two bottles of sparkling water from the fridge.

“I’ve always loved history,” he said, taking both bottles from her to twist the caps off before handing her one back.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down on the couch.

“When most of my friends were reading comic books or playing video games, my head was stuck in books,” Loren said, chuckling at the memory. “I loved books about history— especially ancient Egypt and Africa. But a part of respecting history is being aware of it all—the good and the horrific.”

She watched him, loving the conviction on his face as he spoke.

“But along with history my love for reading and books never wavered,” he said, coming to sit down at the table. “In time I envisioned using my knowledge of history and layering it within a really well-written fictional story—entertaining and teaching all at once.”

Desdemona sat back among the pillows on the sofa and eyed him, struck by the exuberance on his face and how he seemed to have an inner light of happiness and calm that was infectious. An urge to cross the room to be near him filled her, surprising her.

“You’re a good person, Lo,” she said.

He nodded in thanks. “I try to be,” he said.

“You’re so young, but you seem to have it all figured out,” she said.

“Nah, definitely not,” he said.

He turned from the dining room table and walked over to the window to look out at the New York night. His jaw was tight and his face troubled, unlike his normal self.

She continued to eye him.

With his hair braided back from his face, it was hard to deny his high cheekbones and fierce looks like a warrior.

“What?” she asked.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. His face filled with questions.

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