The lodgehouse is chilly and crisp in the unwarmed night in Manhattan.

You quietly sit on Jack's bunk under the blanket, reading a book you'd borrowed from Davey. Most of the boys are long asleep by now, though Jack's not back yet. He'd been invited to dinner with Davey and Les's family.

You turn a page, the worn paper crisp under your fingertips as you hear footsteps walk toward the bunk.

"Hey, doll," he murmurs, reaching for his vest and staring to unbutton it.