I force it aside. It’s been three years. He’ll always be a softie, but Jane’s more resilient now. Plus, he’s braced for a short-term thing here. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Jane nods, beaming. “I saw your folder out, by the way. Andrea did mention renovations.” He links arms with me again, and we turn onto a path lined with benches. “You feeling inspired?” His angling hooks the excitement I’ve been holding in check all morning.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I am sorry I didn’t say anything about the sale last night. Part of it was how wrapped up I was with Ol’ Tolerable, but . . .” I grit my teeth. “I didn’t want to mention it, in case it fell through.”

Jane tugs me to take a seat on a bench. A few yards away, a group of children play in a water feature, a man-made stream that will be turned off in the coming weeks. For now, the weather is still warm enough to keep it running.

A little girl in a pink sundress beelines for the water, launching herself into it. The resulting splash flecks our shins. She holds her arms up in triumph, though a few smaller kiddos wail at the unexpected deluge.

Jane chuckles at the spectacle, then tips his head my way. “I know you closed that chapter, Ben. I also know you love interior design. You’re good.”

“I am good,” I concede, helpless in the face of the praise.

“And I do have a special relationship with the moneyman.”

I let my head fall onto his shoulder. “Dearest, are you volunteering to honeypot yourself for little ol’ me?”

“Only you,” he croons, and kisses my temple. “Now c’mon. All that Cher talk has me wanting to watch Mermaids.”

CHAPTER

5

The phone’s shrill ring bounces off the glass walls of the reception area. I pick up the receiver without taking my eyes from the computer screen, smile already plastered to my face. “Work It, this is Liz speaking. How may I help you?”

Toby laughs loud enough that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Liz, you sound like my mom.”

Toby is my day-job boss, the president of Work It, a (since last month’s friendly acquisition of three competitors) national chain of communal workspace facilities. I’m his administrative assistant here at HQ: a glorified receptionist of the highest order and reliable semi-adult who can man the fancy Italian espresso machine in the break room.

“Your mom hired me.” I pivot to face him at his own desk, separated from the lobby by a partition twenty feet away. Headphones set his glasses askew, making him look about a decade younger than the thirty-three years already undermined by his baby face. “Reception, admin . . .”