“Before Ari gets here,” I said, watching him cut the foil of the wine’s seal. “I have to talk to you about something that will add to your workload.” In the day or so since I’d set the course, I’d been oddly calm. But now my pulse hammered. Maybe he heard the nerves in my voice, for he retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it almost to the rim. “I want to do the article, Atlas. About my father. About everything.”

He did this thing, sometimes, when he was startled—he liked to call it pudding arms—where his body kind of flopped dramatically. Thank goodness, in this case, he’d already put down the wine. “Daisy,” he said.

“I know.”

“About everything?”

“Everything, everything,” I said, steadfast.

“Why now?” A fair question. “I thought you said you’d signed a treaty with Darley’s office? I thought there was a truce?”

“There was.” I shrugged. “I’ll break it.”

“You’ll break it.” He paused, seemingly taking this in. Then, with sudden haste, he rounded the island and swooped me into his arms.

I returned his hug, smelling him, feeling his heart under his T-shirt, feeling safe.

When he released me, he asked if I was sure.

“Yes,” I said, combing my fingers through my hair, checking to make sure it wasn’t standing on end. “It’s the right thing to do. It feels necessary. But, Atlas, listen. I don’t want you to take it easy on me. I don’t want you to write this to encourage people to feel sorry for me. Because they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I won’t.”

“I will talk about everything my father did. I will acknowledge and try to reckon with it, out, in fresh air. Done with hiding.”

His next question: “When?”

“Tomorrow?” In the old romantic comedies, those of our childhoods, there was always the running scene, was there not? Through the crowd. Dashing, not a moment to spare. To the choice that should’ve been clear as day. To destiny. When you know how the rest of your life should be lived, you want to start the rest of your life as soon as possible.

My destination, though—not a man, but my true and best self.

“All right, tomorrow.” He lay his elbows on the island. I saw his mind beginning to plan, to map out routes.

“Thank you,” I said. “I continue to ask things from you. And you keep saying yes, no matter how difficult I’m being.”

“You may ask things that are difficult, Daisy,” he said softly. “But that’s not the same as being difficult. You know?” I did now, and smiled with relief. “That’s why, when I think about you, I—”