Early on the fifth day of Dani’s stay, he woke to the sound of her coming down the ladder. It was dark, and a glance at his phone told him it was five a.m. She appeared in silhouette in his doorway. “Max,” she whispered.

“Hello,” he’d said back, at full volume.

“Oh!” He’d startled her. “Sorry. I’m just trying to get my dog. Lately when I wake up and he’s not there, I get up and write, but I can’t keep it up. I’m too tired.” He wasn’t surprised. They had been staying up late and she’d been getting up early. “But then, stupidly, I couldn’t fall back asleep because apparently even though I’m exhausted, I’m emotionally dependent on a seven-pound Yorkshire terrier to actually fall asleep.”

He tried to make Max Minimus go with her. He really did.

All right, he didn’t try that hard.

When the mutt responded to her summons by yawning and burrowing deeper into Max’s armpit, he could have removed him. Picked him up, handed him to Dani, and shut his door behind them.

Instead, he scooched himself, his armpit, and the dog it contained to one side of the bed and threw back the covers. When she hesitated, he started to get up, aiming to hand over Max Minimus, but she shocked him by getting into the bed. They didn’t touch. They didn’t talk. She just rolled over and went to sleep.

And so did Max.

A few hours later, he opened his eyes to find her staring at him. They were on their sides facing each other. She smiled. He did, too.

“I thought you were an insomniac,” she said.

“It must be the soothing snores of Max Minimus.” She probably thought he was in jest, but he had slept remarkably well these recent nights after the arrival of his canine bedmate. He pushed back the covers. “Do you want to take a writing break or—”

“Max?”

His blood went cold. It couldn’t be. They were in Sardinia.

“Darling?”

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Dani asked.

“Get—” He was about to exhort her to get up, but to what end? Where was she going to go? Was she going to climb out a fucking window because he wouldn’t stand by her? No. Instead he said, “I am sorry in advance. Just remember that.”

The door burst open. His mother rarely came to the cottage, but when she did, she didn’t let little things like respect for privacy, or closed doors, stand in her way.

“Max, darling, didn’t you get my texts?”