“You know you can talk to me, right?”
He immediately nodded but still had trouble getting words out, feeling flooded with anxious energy. “I was going to tell you … I was going to tell you, um, that I wouldn’t mind … if you … well, if you moved in with me someday.” He looked terrified to have uttered this, and quickly backtracked. “You must think I’m pathetic—”
She inhaled sharply, interrupting him. “Oh, I’m so glad you said that! I was thinking that too, but I didn’t know if it was appropriate to say something, and it was kind of tense between us when we were talking about getting you an apartment. I’ve only known you really for one week, and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to suddenly move in together since I’m trying to be less impulsive—”
His laughter stopped her nervous jabber midstream. With reddening cheeks and a bright smile that matched his, she calmly amended, “Yes, I would love to live with you someday, Grant. But right now my psychologist would kill me if I moved in with you after only knowing you for such a short time.”
He nodded. He wasn’t ready either, but the possibility of cohabitating in the future made him ebullient. Then his grin quickly faded. “Your psychologist wouldn’t be the only one upset. Officer Stone would go ballistic too.”
“Probably,” she agreed.
He abruptly appeared withdrawn again as Sophie studied him curiously. “Grant, it was so sweet of you to think about living together. Why did you hesitate in asking me that? What made you stop?”
Looking down, he sighed. “It was something Officer Stone said.”
“Jerry? What did he say?”
“He told me I better not hurt you.”
“What? Why would you hurt me?”
“I would never hurt you, Sophie, I promise. It’s just … I’ve been mixed up with some bad people in my life, and I would never want you to be anywhere near them. They’re dangerous.”
He looked into her warm brown eyes as she tried to understand his vague warnings. Feeling exposed, as if she could read his mind, Grant clenched his teeth. “You’re an angel, Sophie, and they’re—well, they’re not angels.”
“I’m not an angel, Grant,” she insisted. “I’m a felon. I was in prison, just like you. And I’m trying to figure out why Jerry didn’t tell me I better not hurt you. Because we’re in the same boat, sailor.”
Her response was a salve to his guilty conscience, and as he exhaled, he felt tension drain from his muscles. Then he felt a shred of indignation. “Wait a minute. Jerry found out we’re together, but he only yelled at me about it? He didn’t warn you not to hurt me? What’s up with that?”
She shrugged innocently and then smirked. “I guess Jerry likes me better than you. He thinks I’m more trustworthy.”
Sophie began sauntering away.
“That is so unfair!” Grant called after her. “You have him wrapped around your finger—what, because you’re a woman? Because you cried in his office?”
“The womanly touch can be magical.”
“Whatever,” he scoffed, matching her stride for stride as they continued down the street.
“You’ll see,” she promised. “When we find you some god-awful bachelor pad, I’ll make it look presentable by adding my womanly touch.”
His eyes danced. “No flowery crap in my bachelor pad, Taylor.”
“Well, we’re not going with a cheesy nautical theme, I can tell you that much. You spend enough time as it is on the water.”
“Fair enough. All right, let’s check out some apartments.”
As they continued walking, he suggestively inquired, “What were you saying about your womanly touch?”
“You mean this?” she coyly asked, wrapping her arm around his back and drawing his body close to hers. As he lifted his long arm and draped it across her shoulders, she leaned her head into his chest, inhaling the fresh scent of sandalwood.
*
They tentatively entered enemy territory: Wrigley Field, the Chicago Cubs’ home park. En route, Grant had purchased them both White Sox ball caps to celebrate their miraculous find of an immediately available furnished apartment, as well as show their allegiance to the 2006 World Champion White Sox. It was too hot for Grant to wear his fated jacket.
“Do you think we’ll run into our PO?” Sophie asked.
“I doubt it. I bet he’s working this afternoon, probably embarrassing poor parolees by surprising them at their job.”
Sophie grinned.
Grant adeptly navigated them to their section, and they took in the beauty of the park’s ivy-covered brick walls as they stepped down the concrete aisle, making their way to their seats.
“How did you get these tickets?” she marveled, gaping at their prime location behind the third-base dugout.
“One of Uncle Joe’s buddies,” he replied. “Inter-divisional play is the only time it’s good to be friends with a Cubs fan.”
Settling into her blue metal seat, she asked, “So, is your Uncle Joe the one who got you into the Sox?”
“Yep.”
“Joe seems like he’s really important to you.”
“He is,” Grant confirmed. “He’s been the best father I could ask for. He taught me a lot—he’s been a wonderful mentor.”
Grant noticed the Cubs jogging to their positions on the field. The game would begin soon. Deflecting the attention from himself, he asked, “Who is your mentor?”
His question caught her off guard, and she thought about her response carefully. “I’d have to say my graduate advisor, Anita Green.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s this totally smart psychology professor at DePaul. She began teaching there right when I started as a grad student. I was trying to find an advisor to do research with since the professor who recruited me had left for another school, and she agreed to take me on. We made a great team.”
“What kind of research did you do?”
Sophie eyed him suspiciously. “Do you really want to hear about this?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. This egghead research stuff could be boring.” Noticing his rapt attention, she continued. “You’re not going to believe this, but my dissertation was actually on prisoner rehabilitation—whether or not counseling in prison helped female prisoners adjust to life when they got out.”
“Whoa! What a coincidence, huh?”
“You’re telling me. I had actually been to Downer’s Grove Women’s Prison in grad school to interview inmates and prison psychologists. When I rolled in there last year as an inmate myself, I recognized some of the people I had interviewed three years ago.” She looked straight ahead, the bill of her baseball cap partially hiding her face. “It was mortifying.”
Grant sighed. “So, what did you find? Did counseling help?”