She blew her nose. “The first time I served you quinoa—”

“I thought it was bird food.”

They both laughed, and she gave a little shrug. “But salmon?”

“The first few times you made it, I ate it to be polite, and then you were making it every week, and I couldn’t find a way to tell you how much I hate salmon. The longer I left it, the more difficult it became.”

She hadn’t known about his job, and now she discovered he hated salmon. What else didn’t she know about him? “This is terrible.”

He covered her hands with his. “Honey, it’s not terrible. But maybe it’s time we were both a bit more honest.” He stood up and tugged her to her feet. “And maybe we both need to stop trying so hard.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re trying so hard to make life perfect, and when things fall short, which they inevitably do, you feel disappointed and personally responsible.” He brushed dust from her cheek. “And I’m trying so hard to be perfect enough to fit into your perfect world. I confess I even check your little book occasionally to find out what I’m supposed to be doing.”

She felt her face grow hot. “You know about my book?”

“Of course. Why? Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“It’s my behind-the-scenes organization.”

“Why does it need to be behind the scenes?”

“Because it’s supposed to all look smooth and effortless.”

“Why?” He shook his head, confused. “You think I don’t know how much effort goes into creating our home? Believe me, I do. It’s another reason I feel pressure to play my part. It matters to you to have things a certain way. I don’t want to let you down.”

“But you’re not letting me down.” Her eyes filled again. “I’m the one letting you down. Tonight was supposed to be special. Memorable. We get so little time together, and you were feeling the pressure of it all, and I wanted to remind you of how it was when we were just a couple—” Her breath came in jerks. “I wanted us to have fun, and now it’s ruined.”

“Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I haven’t laughed this much for a long time.”

“Do you mean that?” It was true that he seemed more buoyant.

“Yes. The evening hasn’t gone as planned, that’s true, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be romantic.” He smoothed his hand over her hair, flicking away tiny pieces of plaster.

“You think this is romantic?”

“Sure. Have I never told you that you look cute with bits of ceiling in your hair?”

She managed a choked laugh. “Every woman dreams of hearing a man say that to her.”

“There. You’re laughing.” He tugged her close. “That’s a sign of a good date. Laughter. Now, no more crying. I have an idea.”

She leaned her head against his chest. The crazy thing was she felt closer to him in that moment than she had for months. It felt as if they were on the same side. “If your idea doesn’t include burning the cottage to the ground, I probably don’t want to hear it.”