Gabriel sipped his coffee, his gaze fixed on a spot across the kitchen.

“I have laundry I could fold,” I said.

“If you’re offering me time alone, just say so, Olivia. Unless your laundry is in urgent need of folding, I do not require time for myself. In fact, I’d prefer to do just about anything else right now, including laundry.”

“Let’s work, then.”

I fetched my laptop bag from the front hall. TC followed me into the kitchen and hopped onto the table to sit in front of Gabriel. They stared at each other. It wasn’t a territorial stare-down. It wasn’t even TC hinting he’d like a pat. It was, I think, their version of a greeting.

I see you’re back.

Yes, I am.

All right, then.

TC hopped off the table, walked to his bowl, and waited. I filled it, and by the time I was finished, Gabriel had relocated to the parlor. I sat beside him on the sofa, my back resting against his shoulder as I opened my laptop.

“I’m going to put aside my parents’ appeal for today and clear a few others,” I said. “First up, Monty Miller. I’m stalled at—”

My phone chirped with a text. When I made no movement to answer, Gabriel fished the phone from my pocket and checked. The possibility that might be considered rude never occurs to him.

“Ricky,” he said as he passed it over.

Ricky Gallagher is my ex. I don’t call him that, though. An ex is someone you’ve left behind, usually with the associated nastiness and pain of a breakup. I won’t pretend there wasn’t pain in ours. No nastiness, though. Ricky had decided we should step back, for very good and very selfless reasons, and I’d had to agree. Which doesn’t mean it was easy. Or that I don’t light up, seeing his name on my cell-phone screen, before I remember that things have changed. The fact we texted about twenty times a day meant there were a lot of those little stabs of grief. But that constant contact also meant we were navigating the transition from lovers to friends better than I had dared hope.

He’d texted: I thought hurricane season was over.

I chuckled and replied: No hurricanes here.

Him: Rub it in.

Me: Florida’s a bit windy, I take it?

He was in Miami doing work for his father. I had no idea exactly what kind of work. That’s for the best, considering I work for his family lawyer…and Ricky’s family business is running a biker gang.

We texted for a few minutes. Gabriel read over my shoulder, presuming if it was private, I’d have moved away. After a few back-and-forths, Ricky said: Got a favor to ask. You busy?

When I hesitated, Gabriel leaned over and typed: No.