Bob looked over at her, catching the corner of her smile as she looked away. Her skin reminded him of the underside of petals, luminously soft. She was wearing tiny butterfly earrings that for some reason touched him. Laura was a strong woman, but the earrings showed the sweetness she wouldn’t show everyone. He wanted to see that side of her. He wanted to look through the bathroom door when he was getting undressed for the night, and glimpse her taking her earrings out before coming to bed. Oh my god, I have lost my mind. I have skipped straight from dirty dreams to sharing a bathroom . . . although we do share a bathroom.

Bob slowed down for a light. “My parents aren’t thrilled with my life choices, either, but that’s cool.” He made a turn, and added, “I stopped caring about that a long time ago.”

Laura said, “Me too, but my parents don’t seem to care about my opinion of their opinion. They’ll probably be giving it to me twenty years from now.” She took a deep breath and realized her tension was nearly gone. “Honestly, my mother is mystified . . .” She shook her head, then changed the subject again. “Do you know what we’re doing today?”

Bob nodded. “Today we’re taking out a little patch of crappy lawn—Edward’s description, not mine—and replacing it with a couple of raised beds filled with native plants and flowers for the butterflies and birds to enjoy.”

“Does he do that for all his students?”

Bob shook his head. “Just any that let him.”

They drove quietly for a while, and Laura gazed at the people they passed. Los Angeles was much less dense, people-wise, than Manhattan, but there was a similar energy. And apparently a similar level of passion for sports: Everywhere she saw Dodgers shirts. Or Rams. Or Lakers. She was about to ask Bob about it when he spoke again.

“You’re also going to meet Lili, Edward’s fiancée, because I think he said she was coming.” He smiled broadly. “And you’ll meet her kids, who are a total trip.” He reconsidered. “Well, the younger one is a trip. The older one is pretty normal.” He turned and started looking for house numbers. “Ah, there it is.” He pulled over and parked.

The house in question was a small, one-story building on a side street, clearly much loved. The paint was fresh, the curtains bright, the front path decorated with chalk flowers. A little girl was sitting outside, chalking away.

I made it, thought Laura. I made it all the way and he didn’t know how scared I was.

Bob and Laura got out of the truck, and the child looked up and hailed them.