Not wanting to take advantage of Barrett’s hospitality, what little there is of it, I didn’t add anything to the shopping list. Dimitry is an excellent chef and I have been enjoying the dietary variety his meals provide aka something other than ramen noodles. Now, there’s a freezer full of ice cream. I’ll have to eat it all before I leave because I know Barrett won’t eat it and it will go to waste. Not on my watch.

That’s what I’m doing right now. I just got home—Barrett’s home—from work and slipped into something more comfortable—the silk lavender tank and short set with the cozy cardigan sweater—and I’m eating ice cream and reading a book on the couch in the study.

I’m so engrossed in the book and the ice cream that I don’t hear Barrett come in. It’s a romantic suspense novel and I’m almost at the part where she’s going to find out if the man she’s been sleeping with is the killer or if it’s the other guy, so the slightest creak has me jumping and a glop of ice cream lands smack onto the page.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asks, staring at the bowl of ice cream in my hands.

I can’t decide if he’s simply asking or if he’s accusing me of having dessert first.

“Not yet,” I reply.

“I’ll heat up the food,” he says simply, then he’s gone.

I quickly clean up the glop of ice cream, scooping it off the page with my spoon because there’s no need to be wasteful. I’m nervous and excited. It’s ridiculous really, but I’m hoping that maybe Barrett’s effort to talk to me, acknowledge my presence and speak actual words is a sign we can call a truce. I’m ready to make amends. While we were never friends before, I’d like to at least be amicable. I don’t want to be stuck in this weird tension for the next five weeks. Since I know Barrett isn’t programmed to manage feelings and emotions, I’ll have to be the bigger person and apologize.

I find him in the kitchen already setting our plates on the table.

“I’m sorry about Saturday night.” There. I said it. I want to move forward.

“Why are you wearing that?” is his response.

I look down at my clothing. The silk lounge set, and the matching fuzzy cardigan. I put the sweater on because the temperature of the house with the air conditioning on was cool.

“It was in my closet. Was I not supposed to wear it?”

“I know where you found it, I bought it for you.”

“Thank you. It’s really nice.” I rub the soft sleeve of the sweater.