A common refrain these last few weeks, when he finds me hunched over my sketches. I purse my lips and reach a hand out, stroking my thumb under the soft, darkened skin beneath one of his eyes.

“You need to sleep more,” I say. I like this, how this is—it’s a real you two moment, two people taking care of each other, counting on each other.

He lowers his hand a couple of inches, presses his fingers into some of the tightest muscles. I wish I could say I made a bedroom sound in response, but my grunt of pleasure-pain probably sounds more like I’m changing a tire.

He chuckles.

“Finish early tonight,” I say. “I’ll let you give me a massage. I’ll give you one back.”

He looks over at me, his mouth crooking. “It’s tempting,” he says. But then he looks away from me, out into the crowd of people milling around. “I do have to go back, though.”

I sigh, disappointed but understanding. I’ll go back to Brooklyn tonight; I’ll keep practicing my pitch. I’ll see Reid tomorrow, maybe, or this weekend, after the pitch is done. No matter how it goes, I want to celebrate it with him. After all, it’s his games that helped me get started on it in the first place.

He leans in, presses a kiss to my mouth. “Soon,” he says, even though these days it all feels not soon enough.

“Okay,” I say, standing and shaking out my dress. I set my hands on my hips and look back at him. “Well, at least let me get an ice-cream cone first.”

The whole trip out here feels more than worth it to see Reid’s expression when I order something called a Salty Pimp, a caramel-vanilla soft serve dunked in chocolate. It’s a mess to eat, absolutely a disaster in the warmer weather, and every three licks or so, as we walk in the direction of his office, I hold it out to him and offer him a bite, even though I know he’s never going to take one.

“Man, you’re missing out,” I say teasingly, delighting in his smiling refusal before taking another sloppy lick. We’re close to our destination now, and I’m pretty sure I have some chocolate at the corner of my mouth, but there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of point in getting it now. Best wait until the cone is finished, and anyway, however much Reid doesn’t eat sweets himself, he seems to love watching me have them, and I want to lighten his mood as much as possible before he has to go back to work. “After those spicy tacos? I can’t believe you—”