“Yes, but I’m divorced. The point is, even if you’re not married yet, I assume you date frequently.”

Will’s phone chimed in his pocket, and Abraham raised his eyebrows. If that was Nora, she had the worst timing in history. But his hand still twitched to check it.

“I don’t re—” he began, but honestly, this time, he was glad to be interrupted. What the hell was he going to say to Gerald Abraham about his dating history, which functionally did not exist? Had he . . . ever really been on a date? He shifted on his feet, that phone feeling suddenly heavier in his pocket.

“I believe I miscalculated, asking Sally to another dinner, even though sushi went well.”

Will stared. This tone. This was a let’s debrief the appendix removal situation tone. “Okay,” he said.

“I think there are two problems,” Abraham said, and then, in a familiar move, he turned to walk away, still talking. “The first is, during our marriage, I did not take Sally on dates.”

“Okay,” Will repeated, because now it was like he was in it, with this tone. It at least made him feel like he was on the job. “So you’re treating—” Jesus. He cleared his throat. “So you’re dealing with this by asking her on dates.”

“Yes, but this brings us to the second problem, which is that Sally has always felt I am too devoted to routines.”

Will cocked his head, nodding. He guessed that explained the white coat. The constant talk of protocol. The thing was, Gerald Abraham was a good doctor. What he lacked in bedside manner he absolutely made up for in precision, in the kind of careful, repetitive follow-through that meant he hardly ever missed a thing.

“Sally, as I am sure you have observed, prefers more spontaneity.” He looked sideways at Will. “And so in asking her to dinner again, what have I done?”

Will blinked. “I mean it’s only the sec—”

“Established a routine!” Abraham said, stopping.

Will stopped too, turning to face his . . . huh. Didn’t feel right to think of him as a boss right at this moment, even though this was basically the time in the debrief when Will was being asked to solve a problem. Abraham had done the diagnosis, and now he wanted Will to develop the treatment.

But with a sinking sense of clarity—and a fair bit of shame—Will realized he was even less qualified to help than he would’ve originally thought, because not only did he not have any meaningful experience dating, he was also currently spending every free moment he had with a woman whom he’d never actually taken out.

Whom he’d confined to a very specific routine.

You’re not dating her, a familiar, focused part of his brain told him, and he supposed it was true. What he and Nora had, it was . . .

Something more.

That was another part of him talking.