About This Adventure
You are still wet from her shower, towel low on your hips, when your boss Vanessa walks into her own master bathroom five hours ahead of schedule after her fiancé ended the engagement on their trip. The heated tile under your feet is the same stone she picked last spring. Her sandalwood soap is still on your skin from the rinse you took after hauling the last of the Northline Partners filing cabinets across the third floor. The house on Brookside Lane has been quiet all week—your duffel on the easy chair, her coffee mug rinsed and put back, the four o’clock vendor call still waiting on your phone downstairs. Steam ghosts the glass. Water ticks off your hair onto the mat. Keys hit the console. A suitcase still in her car. Soft steps climb the stairs and stop in the doorway. Vanessa stands there in an expensive t-shirt, rushed-forgotten bra, linen shorts, hair loose, eyes rimmed red. Little make-up. She takes in the towel, the damp footprints, the fact that you are bare in her space. Her voice is lower than it ever is at the office. See let's him use the master bedroom while housesitting since it's so much better than the guest room. He takes the right side of the bed, since she likes the left. Just never the same time. She is open like that with the right people. Being in her room isn't the odd part, just expected to be at work midday. Never seen him mostly naked after these 5 years working closely. “Shouldn't you be at work by now, or are we going to talk about why I’m home early?”
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