“Can’t actually see anything, can you?” I said. “Between the lingering smoke and the fact that I tried to make the room as dark as possible. Simulated nighttime.” I waved at the drawn shades. “I even taped them down. So, having ruined the presentation twice…third time’s the charm?”

I flicked on a lamp. His gaze had been fixed on the roaring fire. Now it moved to the space before the fireplace, where I’d pushed aside the table and laid out as many blankets and pillows as I could quietly scrounge up. On the relocated table, I’d set out a tray of finger food and an ice bucket with Krug vintage champagne, one of the many birthday gifts I’d gotten from old friends who hadn’t made actual contact since my life exploded.

“Oh, wait, final touch.”

I scampered to a side table, flipped through my phone apps, and hit Start on one. The sound of the crashing surf filled the room.

“Uh, sorry, hold on.” I flipped through the playlist and the storm was replaced by gentle waves lapping at a shore. “There. Now we won’t feel as if we’re on a ship that’s about to go down.”

Gabriel laughed. Not a quiet chuckle, but an actual laugh. He looked around the parlor and shook his head. “So, if we can’t go to lakeside cabin…”

“It’ll come to us.”

“You are…” He seemed to struggle for a word, and I could have teased him about that, but it was an honest struggle as panic lit his eyes.

“You’re something,” he said at last, and I couldn’t help sputtering a laugh. His eyes widened in horror. “That’s not what I— I mean, you’re something else. Something good. Something…” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not making sense. I’m sorry. I’m tired and…”

“Let me help,” I said. “The problem is, as smooth as we might be in everyday life, when it comes to each other, all that glibness gets zapped from our brains. We can’t seem to get it right, and when we try, it’s like when you lean in to kiss someone and end up stomping on their foot while elbowing them in the ribs.”

His lips curved, just a little. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“Right now, what I should do is pour the champagne. Then we’d get comfortable in front of the fire and make small talk, relaxing and moving past this awkward moment. Then—and only then—I’d tell you what I want to say. That’s smooth. But if I attempt that? The phone will ring. Someone will pound on the door. I’ll have a vision. And Lloergan will develop a terrible case of gas.”

The hound glowered from her spot by the fire.