In the end, Dom and I both get out of the place, leaving our mugs behind to pick up tomorrow.

Well, I made a mug. I’m not sure what Dom created, exactly. His clay cup looked like it was trying to consume itself from within.

“I thought you loved pottery.” I shove one fist into the pocket of my dress—because it’s that kind of awesome dress.

“Never tried it before. I do things for the fun of it. Even if I suck.”

He’s a walking, talking self-help book, I think. It’s exactly what I need.

“You can take mine, then. Tomorrow, I mean.”

Since there’s no way I’m coming back to pick it up, and all.

“Why, thank you.” Dom tips an imaginary hat. “I shall drink my morning coffee with it from tomorrow until the end of my days. Or at least until one of our children breaks it. Darn Dominic Jr. Always up to no good.”

Okay. Hold up. What?

I stop in front of his car. He turns around, then walks back to face me as he speaks. “I’m kidding, Lynne. You should see your face.”

“Whatever,” I say, and it feels good to smile again. It reminds me how rarely I do it these days. “You don’t scare me.”

“We men don’t think that far ahead. I, for instance, am still stuck on our wedding invitation, the future Mrs. G.”

I laugh harder, then ask, “What does G stand for, anyway, DominicG?”

“Graves,” he says. “Dominic Ansel Graves. What’s your full name, EverlynneL?”

“Everlynne Bellatrix Lawson.”

“Bellatrix?” His eyebrows jump to his hairline. He looks pleased and infinitely amused.

“Bellatrix,” I confirm with a nod. “It means female warrior in Latin. My mom was a ‘go big or go home’ kind of lady when it came to naming her kids.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Everlynne Bellatrix Soon-to-Be-Graves. I’m sure you’ll come up with interesting names for our kids too.”

“You know, statistically speaking, there’s a ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent chance that won’t happen.” I slip into the passenger seat of his car. I feel lighter than I’ve felt in six years.

Dom shrugs. “But point oh one percent is more than zero chance, and that’s good news for me.”

“Where to now?” I ask. I have a feeling tonight is not over yet. It won’t be over until he kisses me. Dom is the kind of man who knows what he wants, and he’s been staring at my lips all night. I’m ready to kiss him back, just to try to see if I’m not broken. If I can still feel something.

He kicks his car into drive. “You’ll see.”

His smile tells me what his mouth doesn’t. That the best is yet to come.

We get to the Pickering Wharf Marina. Dom parks, rounds the car, pops the trunk open, and produces an elaborate, beautifully wrapped charcuterie. My initial reaction is that it is yet another sign he is so much more mature than me. I don’t necessarily dislike it. It would actually be nice to have a responsible adult in my life, since it doesn’t look like my dad and I are on our way to reconciliation. He takes out individually boxed wine and saunters to a picnic table of a clam shack.