When he told me the story about the car accident, he spoke in a monotone, as if blocking off his emotions. I asked him if he ever saw a therapist after the accident, and he told me yes, but then he wouldn’t talk about it anymore.

In some ways though, it’s a relief he won’t talk about his former marriage. Because if he were to open up about it to me, he might expect me to do the same about the loss of my parents. And I do not have any desire to do so. I’d rather not admit to him that my parents never cared for me, and the feeling was mutual.

“Can you babysit the stove for a few minutes?” Luke asks me.

I bristle. In a few minutes, I could easily destroy this meal. “Why?”

“I want to grab a change of clothes from my car. I’m not going to want to run out there later.”

“Oh.”

“You know…” He gives me a pointed look. “I don’t have to live like a nomad all the time.”

I take a step back, my heart pounding. Does he want to move in with me? He’s been here so frequently lately, but I can’t contemplate such a thing. Even though I haven’t asked him to leave in a long time, the option is there. We have our own space. If he moved in, he would be here all the time. Yes, it’s a big house, but it suddenly feels very small.

“Relax, Adrienne,” he says quickly. “I don’t want to move in. I’m just saying, maybe you could clear out a drawer for me or something. You know?”

“Oh.” My breathing slows. “Yes. I could do that. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay.” He puts down the spoon in his hand and pulls me closer to him so he can kiss me. One of those lingering kisses that makes my whole body tingle. He still gets to me, even after four months. “I know you’re crazy. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

He’s doing it too. Flirting with the word “love.” I love your sauce. I love that you’re crazy. He’s going to say it to me—I can see it all over his face. It’s just a matter of time.

While he’s kissing me, a chime comes from the front door. The doorbell. At eight-thirty in the evening.

“Who the hell is that?” Luke asks.

I grab my phone from where I left it on the kitchen counter. I bring up the camera app to see who’s at the front door. My stomach sinks. It’s EJ.

The doorbell rings again.

Luke turns to answer the door, but I grab his arm. “Don’t answer it.”

He frowns. “Who is it?”

“A patient. Just ignore it. He’ll go away.”