He’d lucked out, getting this idea on the one night a week it was open late, though if he could’ve helped it he would’ve gotten here earlier, would’ve been able to spend a whole afternoon with her, watching her walk through the curved, fragrant pathways, her phone in her hand, the camera app open. As it stood, they had only about a half hour before things shut down for the evening, the sky above them through the panes of the greenhouse glass purple-gray with clouds and the coming night.

Still, it had the feeling of a date, or at least the feeling he thought might be associated with a date—he and Nora for once not dressed for home improvement, not undressed for what always came after. Instead, he’d gone home after work to change, dressing in a version of what he usually wore to the clinic—dark pants, a collared shirt he’d made sure to iron. Nora, of course, looked beautiful—any way he saw her, she looked beautiful—but tonight she’d worn a summer dress, navy and white, a featherlight gold necklace dipping low into the V of her neckline, her long hair down and lightly curled.

When she’d stepped out of her car, he’d almost forgotten to breathe.

Of course that they hadn’t come together was a reminder of the ways things were different between them; so, too, was the way they’d both, from the beginning, kept a strained sort of physical distance from each other. Around them, couples strolled with their fingers interlocked, or with hands set gently on one another’s backs—casual, natural touches that all of a sudden, Will constantly noticed. He’d wanted to get Nora out; he was glad to get her out. But now that he had her here, he wanted what they had when they were in, too. He wanted his hands on her while she moved. He wanted to set his mouth against hers every time she looked up at him, delighted by something she’d seen.

Instead, he kept his hands in his pockets. His mouth to himself.

But even in spite of this restraint, something about being with her here felt undoubtedly loose, freeing. Away from her apartment, he didn’t think about the way his footsteps sounded beneath him, or the way his voice carried. He didn’t think about the next project they’d use as an excuse, or about what would happen when they finally ran out of them.

“Oh, look at this,” Nora said, bending over a sign. “Cycads can live for five hundred years! What a plant, huh?”

Will smiled. Of course Nora would like an old plant.