“Completely,” I said. “Hang tight. It’s not a problem. I’ll be there.”

An hour later I asked for her at the Starbucks front desk, but she was busy. I left the packet, my work number, and a note. I like option B, I wrote of the designs for an in-store promotion I’d seen inside. I added a smiley face.

I didn’t leave my information for any other reason than to let her know that I’d brought it and had ensured its safety.

I thought that was it. And really, that was fine. But the next day she called me.

“You saved me,” Sophie said. “Not even kidding. Everything was backed up in that folder but the notes my design director made. I didn’t want to go back and tell her I lost it.”

“No,” I said. “Don’t want your boss in your face.”

“That makes me wonder if you know her,” she said, with a short laugh.

“I know the type,” I said.

I told her that I was glad to bring it, and she insisted that she repay me with a drink at a little place in Pioneer Square. I’d been trying to quit alcohol, but I said yes anyway. She was so appreciative, and I honestly could feel that energy passing between us.

Micah was installing a new freezer at the restaurant, so I had the night off. I met Sophie at six forty-five, and we talked for two hours. She told me about her job. I told her about the restaurant business and the things people forget to take with them when they dine: birthday presents, phones, and condoms.

“Condoms?” she asked. “What kind of place is the Blue Door?”

“Special occasion,” I said with a grin.

And it went like that. Neither one of us mentioned our spouses, though we both wore rings, and it was obvious we were married. It didn’t feel like a first date or anything. Instead, our two hours felt like five minutes with a best friend you haven’t seen in years, when you are somehow able to cram in a range of dozens of topics like an episode of Jeopardy!

Here’s the thing: I didn’t stop loving Kristen when I met Sophie. I loved Kristen with all my heart. She and I were going to start a family. And while all of the drama—sadness—associated with that weighed on us, I never doubted that we’d work our way through it. Kristen had an innate need to be a mother. I understood. I cried with her whenever we failed. I held her at night, because that’s what you do when someone is in emotional agony. I didn’t ever say to her that it was killing me too. I couldn’t do that to my wife. I didn’t think it was right to say anything about me when she was in the morass of motherhood denied.