“That . . .” She pauses. “That remains to be seen. Charles’s involvement is specific to Meryton; outfitting some other venue for our shows would be too much of a gamble for him. I certainly don’t have the assets to start anything of my own, and finding another investor would take time.” She sniffs. “You all would scatter to the four winds, getting scooped up by other producers and shows.”

I roll my eyes at the unnecessary drama and make my next bite large enough to let me avoid having to placate her. It earns me a kick from Jane, but I chew on, defiant.

Jane sighs. “We wouldn’t abandon you, Andrea.”

Andrea’s eyes soften, likely more at Jane’s acknowledgment of her emotional fronting than his loyalty. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. Thank you, darling,” she says to the waiter, who has returned with another ungodly amount of $2 bubbles and orange juice concentrate. He tops off each of our glasses, and Andrea raises hers in a toast. “To artful negotiations. And happy couplings.”

“On a scale from one to Silkwood, how badly do you need to shower after that conversation?” I weave my arm through Jane’s, and he gives mine a squeeze. We’ve opted to aid digestion with a stroll through the park instead of heading straight home.

He sighs. “Andrea gonna Andrea.”

Andrea left as soon as her plate—and mimosa vat—was clear. At least she’d done us the courtesy of paying for the meal. I’m still livid over her suggestion about Jane, but Jane’s been quiet. When I peek at his face, his expression is shuttered, brows low in thought.

“It doesn’t have to change anything with you and Charles,” I say.

He blinks. “Why would it? Andrea’s just being her, and I don’t mind that Charles didn’t mention it. I don’t know when it would have come up.”

“I bet not.” I elbow him. “You got a love bite on your neck—”

“That’s two Cher references in less than thirty seconds, Bennet.”

“That one was Olympia Dukakis.”

“Still Moonstruck.”

“Still stalling.”

Jane releases my arm. I let him walk ahead a few paces. He turns, scrubbing his hand along his jaw. “I like him, Bennet. I want to get to know him better in the time he’s here. We only talked a little bit about him; he was the one asking what brought me to New York and about my interests and . . .” He shakes his head, eyes distant, then bright. “I really like him.”

While I love seeing Jane so buoyant, my thoughts touch down on the potential fallout of this hypothetical love affair. An image of Jane, depression-dulled and couch-bound, mainlining nature documentaries, flickers in my memory.