“Hey barkeep, fix me a drink, and don’t be parsimonious with the bourbon.” He turned around and smiled.

“When have I ever?” he responded. Just like that, we had reestablished our footing. Whatever awkwardness stood between us yesterday was clearly gone today.

Alex, the hostess, came up and brushed against Griffin’s side. She was stunningly gorgeous. It piqued my curiosity. There was something familiar about their touching. The way she patted him was playful. It was the kind of gesture reserved for spouses who navigate around each other in the kitchen.

And then there was their exchanged glances. It made me wonder what was going on between them. For just a moment, I observed them, forgetting to breathe or blink. I downed my drink and asked for another. Had he inked her name in a naughty place?

“Go easy, girl. You know I’m going to like your design. Maybe you better have something to eat.” He handed me a menu. As I checked out the offerings, my gaze wandered and I noticed the people drizzling in. My second home looked even more tired than the last time I was here. But when my scallops came, what she lacked in atmosphere, she made up for in cuisine. The cooking still dazzled.

The next morning, in our rattiest clothes, Griffin, Henry, and I started painting. I made us all stop mid-stroke if colors were too muted or too dark. I took the paint myself to watch it be remixed. It gave Henry a chance to check on Hank and Daddy, and Griffin time to make a food run for us. That was the upside of having three restaurants. It didn’t matter if your home kitchen was indisposed.

Once the color suited me, we painted again. We adapted to our roles without fanfare. We made progress. We made mistakes. We corrected them, and then we made progress again. At the end of every day, we were weary, sweaty, and happy. Days passed without Elliott ever checking in. Day after day, stroke after stroke, I observed that through this process, we were also healing. We were better. Together. We were a cord of three strands not easily broken.

On the night before the great unveiling and after performing a little Christmas magic of my own at Griffin’s condo, my eyes landed on the painting of Italy that I had given Griffin so many years ago. It made me sad to think it was hanging all alone on the wall by itself, and my heart clenched at the thought that Griffin had not yet been to Italy. Then I strolled into the kitchen and into the living room and let myself twirl around with unbridled joy at the beauty I had created. I joined the boys at Henry’s house. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow Griffin would get to move back into his condo, and with any luck, he would approve of the magic I worked.