The doorbell rang. It was our food. As we sat at the bar area and ate, I explained to Griffin how I designed the bar to be the perfect area to create his bespoke cocktails. I grabbed our champagne, but I also grabbed a bottle of Sausalito’s finest for a little Christmas cheer and a couple of my mother’s wine glasses.

“I saw what you were doing with the bar area right away. I love it. I see now what you do. You pay attention. It’s very individual. I think you have surpassed Julian.”

“That was always my intent. To marry the basic truths of a person with some of their hidden whimsy and uniqueness. While I do enjoy your flattery, I want to know what your favorite things are.”

“I love exactly where we are. I love this bar area, but I love the living room. The rug, the pillows, and the painting over the fireplace is the best. But you can’t kid me. I know this did not come under budget.”

I weighed my answer. “You’d be surprised. There are a bunch of shops off Canal Street that have great distressed furniture. Some of those places have back rooms with remnants of fabric that I was able to repurpose. Sometimes even bolts at great deals. Let’s just say, with a little magic, I did what I wanted to do.” I didn’t want to tell him that one of these places was called The Dump—and that its name was richly deserved.

“I’m glad I didn’t know what you were doing. That scares me for you. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. Unless you’re still packing Henry’s Swiss Army knife. God, I pictured those back rooms selling nothing but pot.”

“Oh, they do. I bought so much merchandise in one shop they threw in a bag of pot for free! I never leave home without my switchblade,” I laughed, but Griffin looked horrified.

“Shit, Bae. Don’t take unnecessary risks. What did you do with the pot?”

“I didn’t smoke it. I still prefer eighty proof. I gave it to Elliott. He appreciated it.”

After dinner, we returned to the living room and restocked the fire.

“Would you like some hot chocolate? I have some cherries. I’m sure you noticed I have your mother’s china.”

“No!” I almost shrieked. Could the long reach of memories stretch across the years and ensnare me once again? I was afraid to take a chance. “I am very content.”

“Yes. This is nice.”

I agreed. Something occurred to me. “Why haven’t you been to Italy yet? You have the money. You’d better go now before you have a little Hank of your own.”