We wave the poor waiter away five times, until finally the manager comes over and tells us we need to order. And then I talk about the kids, how they seemed almost like mine, how in a tiny way I finally understood the joy of seeing little people learn, to see them grow. That after only days apart, I already missed them. That I never knew I could give my attention so willingly to someone else.

As our pinot noir is poured, a bottle Gavin picked with my input, I finally get to the bracelet, how its discovery has made me sweaty and anxious and unable to sleep, without even a job to distract me. “And the worst part is that I think I’m jumping to awful conclusions, you know? I think there must be something wrong with me that I haven’t taken Anneliese’s excuse at face value, like I’m overly suspicious, that somewhere along the way I’ve become so jaded that I refuse to continue seeing the goodness in people the moment they make a mistake.” I put my head in my hands. “I just can’t figure out what’s keeping me from believing her.”

Gavin has been quiet this entire time, widening his eyes and furrowing his brow at the right moments, never good at hiding his true feelings. Now he takes my hand away from my face, holds it for a moment before placing it back on the table near the plate.

“You’re following your instincts,” he says softly. And I nod and look up at him as our food is brought out, Moroccan chicken for me, a vegetarian couscous for him.

He knows something. I can see it in the way he drops his eyes to the tagine, how he fidgets with a fork as he spoons the couscous into his mouth. It’s unlike him not to blurt out what he’s thinking. If anything, he’s known to say too much.

“What do you have to tell me?” I try, spearing the tender chicken, watching as it falls off easily from the bone.

He chews, swallows. Takes a sip of wine. “It’s Beth’s business, not mine.” I’m glad he’s not denying it.

“I haven’t spoken to Beth in months. You tell me.” His paper napkin falls to the ground, and neither of us makes the move to pick it up.

“She’s worried about you. She wants you to call her back.”

I stuff more chicken in my mouth, barely tasting it. “Can you not deflect and just tell me? I can handle it.”

He rubs his face, glances to his left, takes another sip of wine, taps his fingers against the table. “When I say you’re following your instincts, I mean you really are. There’s something wrong with that woman. Beth found some stuff out.”