I would have laughed longer, but I really needed to pee. “Hey,” I said as I kicked the covers off. “Do you think buying this house will turn out to be a bad idea? You know, all the things we can’t control? All the memories I can’t shake? All the people we can’t keep from showing up to stay here?”

“It’s a beautiful house,” John said. “We’ll be fine. I mean, how much worse can it get?”

John made coffee and cooked breakfast while I filled dishes with food for Horatio and Pebbles and the kittens. Then we all ate together in the cat room.

The animals dug right in. The humans balanced our plates on our laps and ate with a tad more restraint. John had made actual omelets, with bacon and broccoli and cheddar cheese and green onions. I would have just zapped some Thanksgiving leftovers. I took a moment to marvel at the possibility of a lifetime of upgraded meals. I mean, how lucky can you get? Sure, there were more compelling reasons than cooking expertise for falling in love with someone. But it was definitely a nice perk.

“We’re going to have to stop calling this the cat room once we move in,” John said.

“I already renamed it,” I said. “Remember? The love shack?”

“Right.” John took it all in, settled his gaze on the litterbox. “It doesn’t get much more romantic than this.”

When we finished eating, I grabbed an empty wine bottle somebody had missed during last night’s clean-up patrol.

“Run away with me,” I sang into it. It was my best Norah Jones imitation, which I had to admit wasn’t all that good. I was pretty sure I’d botched the lyrics, too. Get away with me? Sneak away with me? Come away with me?

John didn’t seem to mind. “Sure. As long as it includes a substantial walk and Horatio’s invited, too.”

“Horatio’s invited, and it absolutely includes a walk,” I said. “But that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Not many cars were on the road on the morning after Thanksgiving. But extra cars seemed to be clumped in the driveways we passed, signs of grown-up children visiting their parents for the weekend. Gold and burgundy chrysanthemums were clustered outside doorways and tucked into window boxes. By the end of the weekend, they’d be replaced with greenery—pine and boxwood and spruce. And Marshbury would twinkle with Christmas lights, most a tasteful white.

Living near a beach is like always having a sandbox to play in. As soon as we pulled into the beach parking lot, Horatio’s tail began wagging a mile a minute. We all jumped out of my car. John and I zipped up our jackets.