They fell into another silence, but this one was different.
It was the silence of two people who were beginning to understand each other in ways that went beyond words.
"Who is it?" Hailey asked suddenly, surprising herself with her boldness. "The person you're thinking about?"
Eric looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head.
"Some things are better left unsaid," he said. "At least for now."
Hailey wanted to push, to ask more questions, but something in his tone told her that he had already said more than he was comfortable with.
She tried a different approach.
"Is it someone from work?" she asked.
Eric smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You're persistent," he said.
"I'm curious," Hailey replied. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Eric asked, his tone teasing but gentle.
"Yes," Hailey said. "Persistent implies I won't give up. Curious just means I'm nosy."
"And which one are you?"
"Both, probably," she replied with a sheepish smile.
Eric reached out and took her hand, his touch gentle and warm.
"I appreciate that you want to know," he said. "But I'm not ready to talk about it yet."
Hailey squeezed his hand, accepting his answer even though it left her with more questions than before.
"Okay," she said. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."
"I know," Eric said, his voice soft. "Thank you."
"Besides, everyone needs someone to vent to about their complicated love life."
"Is that what this is? Venting?"
"Well," she asked, genuine curiosity showing on her face. "What would you call it?"
"I don't know. Honest conversation?"
"Fancy," she said, rolling her eyes.
Eric smiled. "You have a way of making everything seem less serious."
"It's a gift. Some people have perfect pitch. I have the ability to deflate tension with inappropriate humor."
"It's not inappropriate. It's perfect."
They talked for another hour about safer topics.
"Tell me about your family," Hailey said, settling back against her pillows.
"My family?" Eric's expression grew more serious. "They're... intense."
"Intense how?"
"High expectations. Everything has to be perfect. Emotional expression was basically banned in our house."
"Yikes. No wonder you're so bottled up."
"I'm not bottled up," he said defensively.
"You're sitting on my bed at three in the morning because you can't sleep because you're thinking about everything. That's pretty much the definition of bottled up."
"When you put it like that..." he trailed off. "Anyways, what about yours?"
Hailey smiled. "My mom was an artist. My dad worked at the post office but loved old movies. We didn't have much money, but we had a lot of laughs."
"That sounds nice," Eric replied.
"It was. Chaotic, but nice. Mom would paint these beautiful landscapes and Dad would act out scenes from Casablanca while doing the dishes."
"He acted out movie scenes while doing dishes?"
"Oh yeah. Full commitment. Voices, dramatic gestures, the works. He did a killer Humphrey Bogart."
"I can't imagine growing up like that," he replied with a dreamy look on his face.
"Different doesn't mean bad."
"No, I didn't mean..." Eric paused. "Actually, it sounds wonderful."
"It was. Messy and loud and wonderful."
As they talked, Eric began to relax more. His shoulders dropped, and he laughed more easily.
"I should let you get some sleep," he said, starting to stand.
"You can stay," Hailey said quickly, then immediately felt embarrassed. "I mean, if you want to. It's a big bed, and we're both adults."
Eric looked at her for a long moment, as if he was considering his options.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure," Hailey said, moving over to make room for him. "Just sleeping."
"Just sleeping," Eric agreed, settling down beside her on top of the covers.
They lay there in the darkness, careful not to touch but very aware of each other's presence.
"This is weird, right?" Hailey said into the darkness.
"A little."
"Good. I was worried I was the only one feeling weird about it."
"No, you're not alone in the weirdness."
"Thanks. That's oddly comforting."
Eric chuckled. "You're welcome."
They lay there in silence for a while.
"Eric?" Hailey said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever's going on with this other person... don't make yourself crazy over it."
"Easier said than done," he said.
"I know. But sometimes we hold onto things because we think we're supposed to, not because we actually want to."
Eric chucked. "Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Noodles?"
"It's my personal experience opinion. Which is sometimes more valuable."
"Maybe you're right."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm right. I'm always right."
"Always?"
"Well, except when I'm wrong. But let's not focus on those times."
Despite the emotional weight of their conversation, Hailey found herself drifting off to sleep with Eric's steady breathing beside her.
When she woke up the next morning, sunlight was streaming through her curtains, painting the room in soft golden light.
She turned over, expecting to see Eric still sleeping beside her, but the bed was empty.
"Eric?" she called out softly.
No response.
For a moment, she wondered if she had dreamed the entire thing.
But then she noticed that the pillow next to hers still held the impression of his head, and she could smell the faint scent of his cologne on the fabric.
She got up and walked to the kitchen, hoping to find him there making coffee or doing the dishes.
But the kitchen was empty too, and when she looked out the window at the street below, she realized he was gone.
The dishes from the night before had been washed and put away, and there was a note on the counter written in neat handwriting.
"Thank you for everything. I hope you have a wonderful day. - Eric."
"Seriously?" she said to the empty kitchen. "That's it?"
She stared at the note, reading it over and over.
"'Thank you for everything'? What are we, pen pals?"
The words were polite but distant, nothing like the intimate conversations they had shared in the darkness.
She checked the guest room and found that the bed had been made, the borrowed clothes folded neatly on the dresser.
"Of course," she muttered. "Because heaven forbid there be any evidence that something actually happened here."
It was as if Eric had never been there at all, except for the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his hand in hers.
She made herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, staring at the note and trying to make sense of what had happened.
"I mean, we talked for hours," she said to her coffee mug. "We shared things. Personal things. And this is what I get? A thank-you note?"
The coffee didn't respond, which was probably for the best.
She folded the note carefully and put it in her pocket.
"I'm keeping this," she announced to the empty apartment. "Evidence that I didn't imagine the whole thing."
The apartment felt different without Eric's presence. Quieter and somehow smaller.
She went through her morning routine, muttering to herself.
"'I hope you have a wonderful day.' Really? That's the best he could do?"
In the shower, "I mean, I get it. He's confused. But a proper goodbye would have been nice."
While getting dressed, "What am I, a hotel? You don't just leave a thank-you note and disappear."
By the time she was ready for work, she had worked herself into a proper state of indignation.
"You know what?" she said to her reflection in the mirror. "Good. Let him run away. I don't need that kind of complication in my life anyway."
But when she got to her car, she could still see the impression in the passenger seat where Eric had sat.
"Damn it," she said softly.
As she drove to work, she found herself wondering if she would see Eric on set that day.
"And if I do," she said to the radio, "I'm going to pretend nothing happened. Because apparently that's what we're doing now."
The radio played a cheerful pop song in response, which felt inappropriately optimistic given her mood.
"Would he pretend nothing happened?" she wondered aloud. "Or would he acknowledge that we actually had a conversation like human beings?"
She wasn't sure which possibility scared her more.