Joking about his face was so much easier now. Fern had made it easier. She didn't respond to his last text, but her light suddenly went on. A couple of minutes passed and Ambrose wondered if she was making herself presentable. Maybe she slept with nothing on. Damn. He should have sneaked through the window.
Seconds later, her head shot out the window and she beckoned him to her, giggling as she held the blind out of the way so he could climb through the narrow opening, standing to the side as he found his feet and straightened, filling her room with his shoulders and his height. The covers on her bed were flung back and a dent in the outline of her head still flattened the center of her pillow. Fern bounced on her toes like she was overjoyed to see him and her hair bounced with her, crimson corkscrews that fell down her back and around her shoulders, dancing against the bright orange tank top she'd paired with boxer shorts in mismatched colors that made her look like a carnival clown in a state of undress.
Carnival clowns had never made him breathless before, so why was he short on air, desperate to hold her? He filled his lungs and extended his hand in greeting, looping his fingers in hers and pulling her toward him.
“I always dreamed a hot guy would come through my window,” Fern whispered theatrically, snuggling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist like she couldn't believe he was real.
“Bailey told me,” Ambrose whispered back.
“What? That sneak! He broke the best friend's code not to reveal secret fantasies! Now I'm embarrassed.” Fern sighed gustily, not really sounding embarrassed at all.
“You could have used the front door,” Fern murmured after a long silence. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his neck and then his chin, which was as far as she could reach.
“I've been wanting to climb through your window. I just never had a good enough reason. Plus, I thought it was a little too late to knock on your door. And I wanted to see you.”
“You already saw me today, at the lake. I have a sunburn to show for it.”
“I wanted to see you again,” Ambrose whispered. “I can't seem to stay away.”
Fern blushed, the pleasure of his words washing over her like warm rain. She wanted to be with him every minute, and to think he might feel the same was mind-blowing.
“You should be exhausted,” she said, always the nurturer and she pulled him toward her bed and urged him to sit.
“Working nights at the bakery makes it so I can't sleep, even on my nights off,” Ambrose admitted. He didn’t elucidate on the bad dreams that made it even harder. After a brief silence he added, “Care to share any more fantasies while you've got me here? Maybe tie me to your bed?”
Fern giggled, “Ambrose Young. In my bed. I don't think my fantasies can top that.”
Ambrose's eyes were warm on her face as he studied her in the shadows cast by her small bedside lamp. “Why do you always say my full name? You always call me Ambrose Young.”
Fern thought for a moment, letting her eyes drift closed as he drew circles on her back with gentle fingers. “Because you were always Ambrose Young to me . . . not Ambrose, not Brose, not Brosey. Ambrose Young. Super-star, stud-muffin. Like an actor. I don't call Tom Cruise by his first name either. I call him Tom Cruise. Will Smith, Bruce Willis. For me, you have always been in that league.”
It was the Hercules thing again. Fern looked at him like he could slay dragons and wrestle lions, and somehow, even with his pride tattered and his old image torn down like the toppled statues of Saddam Hussein, she hadn't changed her tune.
“Why did your parents name you Ambrose?” she asked softly, lulled by his stroking fingers.
“Ambrose is the name of my biological father. It was my mom's way of trying to make him acknowledge me.”
“The underwear model?” Fern asked breathlessly.
Ambrose groaned. “I'm never going to live that down. Yeah. He modeled. And my mother never got over him, even though she had a man like Elliott who thought she walked on water and would have done anything to make her happy, even marry her when she was pregnant with me. Even let her name me after Underwear Man.”
Fern giggled. “It doesn't seem to bother you.”
“No. It doesn't. My mother gave me Elliott. He's been the best father a kid could have.”
“Is that why you stayed when she left?”
“I love my mom, but she's lost. I didn't want to be lost with her. People like Elliott aren't ever lost. Even when the world tumbles around his ears he knows exactly who he is. He's always made me feel safe.” Fern was like Elliott in that way, Ambrose realized suddenly. She was grounded, solid, a refuge.