Page 56 of The Apparent Trap

“Esme?”

“Esme’s a pretty name,” I say with a sigh.

“Too pretty. Like if your name was Esme Halevi, you’d just go with that and not need a nickname?”

“Yes, for sure.” I pause. “Why do you always say my full name like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s all one word. EzzieHalevi.”

“It’s all so you.”

“What does that even mean?” It’s hard to sound haughty when I’m pressed up against him. It’s been so easy to think I can verbally bounce off him when his eyes aren’t on me. But with my voice going right into his back, it’s comically impossible.

He doesn’t respond for a moment. “It’s bright. It’s unique. It bounces. It’s full of z’s and v’s, when everyone else sticks with letters that roll off the tongue like m’s and r’s and l’s. It’s you.”

It’s like he’s a magpie and has just handed over something shiny that anyone else would see as tinsel, but for me all that matters is how much it shimmers.

“It’s Esther,” I mumble, needing to hand him something too. “My great-grandmother was Esther Zipporah Halevi, so that’s my full name too.”

I can feel him stop breathing against me. I can tell he’s holding in a laugh but has the grace to not allow himself to let it out.

“At least you’re not named after a murderer,” he finally says.

“You’re not named after the murderer,” I point out. “Just a terrible coincidence after the fact.”

“Is it better to have a terrible coincidence or parents who didn’t think through modern times?”

I laugh, and he squeezes my hands again. “My dad really loved her, so it was meant to be a compliment. He doesn’t think practically.”

“Yeah, outer opinions don’t seem to matter much to him.”

It’s always something I’ve admired about my dad. But I guess there are moments where I should’ve wished he thought more about other perspectives.

“Well now you know,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’m glad I know.”

He doesn’t take it further than that. He doesn’t make a joke out of it—something I’ve certainly done myself, but I get strangely defensive and offended whenever anyone else does.

I wonder what the hour is. My alarm hasn’t gone off, but those inklings of light in a place with a late sunrise probably mean it’s almost time.

I stretch without thinking, my back arching and my hips pressing into Lee.

He bolts upright and scrambles out of bed. “Ezzie,” he says, looking down on me in bed. It’s the first time I’ve seen his face all morning. He’s so tall and rumpled and unfairly adorable at this angle. His eyes are searching my face, too, like he’s categorizing everything he sees.

I catch the outline in his boxer briefs and suddenly understand why pressing into him was probably not the best idea.

“Sorry,” I mumble, running a hand over my face so I have an excuse to not look at him anymore, so damned tempting. Thank goodness he’s at least wearing a shirt.

“No, it’s . . . we should get up anyway.” He turns away from me and bolts down the ladder. He disappears so fast I’m surprised there isn’t a Lee-shaped hole in the wall. “If you really don’t mind me showering in here instead of in the spa, I’m just gonna . . . yeah.”

I hear the shower turn on immediately. I stay in bed a few minutes longer, letting my brain unscramble from the visuals of the morning.

When he comes out of the bathroom, there’s no steam. Cold shower, then, I suppose.

We awkwardly swap places, and I go to get ready for the day. He’s already gone down to breakfast by the time I come out.