“Androcles!” Laura said to the obese one-eared cat who’d been fast asleep against Nick’s body until the comforting warmth of night had been ripped away. “Hey, baby, how you doing?” Her tone was soft and loving, and the cat blinked. He could hear a familiar voice, and if he wanted to, he could probably work out where it was coming from, but he didn’t really want to, so he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and went immediately back to sleep.

“Aw, baby,” said Laura. “You’re not going to forgive me?”

Nick covered him up again. “I guess he needs time, just like you.”

Androcles was named after the ancient dude who pulled the thorn out of the lion’s foot because Nick was a physicist, not a historian. He’d found the cat in Riverside Park, wet, cold, and apparently dead under a tree. One ear was hanging off, one paw was hugely swollen and clearly infected, and fleas were holding a swap meet on his spine.

“And then,” Laura remembered Nick saying several years before, “the vet pulled this huge freaking piece of wood out of his foot and all this disgusting crap came out and that’s when I thought of his name.”

Laura had looked at him. “But Androcles was the one who pulled the thorn, not the one who had the thorn.”

Nick had shrugged and called the cat Andy for short. He was pretty much the only thing Laura missed about New York.

“Are we clear?” asked Laura one last time. “No more flowers, no more nothing. We are old friends, that’s it.”

Nick looked at her and seemed irritated. “I get it, Laura. But you can’t change the way I feel, and I still want to be with you.” He thought of something. “Besides, you need taking care of, whether you like it or not.”

Laura shook her head. “I really don’t, Nick. I’m totally fine.”

“Really?” He looked skeptical. “Done a lot of driving yet?”

Laura frowned at him. “No more flowers.”

“No promises. It’s a free country, baby bear, I can send flowers to any beautiful woman I want to.”

“Go right ahead,” replied Laura, “but take me off your list or I really will cut you off completely.”

He shrugged, clearly not believing a word of it. “Night, sugar cube.”

“Night, Nick.”

She disconnected, then picked up her pillow and screamed into it silently.

•   •   •

Earlier, back on the patio, Polly had put down her phone and addressed the others.

“She’s going to sleep, she’s tired.” She looked at Bob. “I guess it wasn’t your fault after all.”

Bob turned up his palms and shrugged.

“She’s been through a lot,” said Maggie. “I’m not surprised she’s tired. The accident, moving across the country, losing everything in a fire . . .”

Anna looked at Polly. “Have you ever been engaged?”