Feeling the effects of too much wine, Emily bit her lower lip to anchor her attention as she turned onto the main road. She opened the car windows to let in some fresh air. She and Frank had always had their differences. But was his acquisitiveness pathological hoarding? Was her aversion to chaos obsessive nitpicking? Would she end up, years from now, bound to a man she’d once loved but with whom she no longer shared much in common? ’Til death us do part would be a very long time, and maybe that was okay. Case in point: her parents. Lila Laubenstein had been a librarian whose passions were books, art, theater, and more books. A retired cop, Bert loved golf chased with a six-pack, a football game, and more golf. When he wasn’t teeing off and she wasn’t volunteering at the library at their senior center, they spent their days at opposite ends of a two-bedroom condo watching two different TVs. Hers would be tuned to The View, while he had on Fox News. Emily herself was the one thing they had in common.

Without a child to bring them together, would Emily’s and Frank’s differences become irreconcilable? Would they still spark joy for each other? Because trying to “fold” Frank, tidy him up, and trim his rough edges would prove futile. She’d fallen in love with his smile and sharp intellect. He was solid and handsome, even if he drove her around the bend with his auctions and yard sales. At least he wasn’t addicted to Fox News and he didn’t screw around. And he didn’t punch her or tell her what she couldn’t bring into their house. Only what she couldn’t take out of it.

Emily pulled up in front of the lone car parked in front of the Java Connection. The neighboring sandwich shop and insurance office were closed. The Java Connection was a recent addition to what residents referred to as the Square, though the actual Square was now a parking lot. The coffee shop took up half of what had once been a hardware store that closed when Home Depot opened a half mile away. Its plate-glass windows dated back to the sixties. A sign hanging in the front door read WELCOME. And below that, RESTROOM FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY.

As Emily got out of her car, she called Frank. “I’m here,” she said when he answered. “What do you want me to get you?”

“Thanks, doll,” he said. “Americano with an extra shot of espresso.”

“Decaf?”

“God, no. Sacrilege.”