“In some ways,” I said. “Doesn’t everyone miss a time in their life when things were simpler?”

“I’m not sure there was that time in my life,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound self-pitying. It’s just interesting, to hear you talk about a feeling that I won’t ever experience. It’s like people who don’t eat bacon, but want to know why we’re all mad for it. How do you describe what bacon tastes like?” He twined his fingers in mine. “I suppose I want to make sure you’re not having any regrets about our life.”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I miss some stuff about those days, but this trip has given me a dose of perspective. I always thought of doing public appearances as a trade-off for getting to be with the person I love. But it’s wrong to be that passive about it. When we get back to London, I want to have a real voice in this. Will you back me up?”

He leaned in and kissed me firmly. “Yes,” he said. “Wholeheartedly. But do you mind waiting a day to plan our attack? We’ve got a surprise stop on the way home.”

“Hamilton isn’t a surprise,” I said.

Nick grinned broadly. “I’m not talking about Hamilton,” he said. “Although I did decide not to throw away our shot.”

*  *  *

“Fine. You were right,” Nick said the next day. “I don’t understand it, but I cannot deny it. Your watery beer tastes perfect when it’s cold and in a plastic cup on a hot day.”

“I told you,” I said. “Next time I say that it’s Miller Time, don’t make fun of me.”

Nick touched the brim of his cap, as if to salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Also, just FYI, I’m not sure you’ve ever looked sexier to me than you do right now.”

Nick winked, then gulped some beer and focused on the action from our nosebleed seats along the third base line. I pulled down my own careworn hat—Nick had packed it without me knowing—and looked out at what Earl Porter always referred to as our vacation home: Wrigley Field, where my beloved Cubs were taking on the Texas Rangers. When Nick told me yesterday in New York that he’d gotten tickets, I’d gone mute for a full minute.

“This better not be a joke,” I finally said.

“Bex. I would never joke about the Cubs,” Nick said.

“We’re going to an actual baseball game. In actual Wrigley Field. In actual seats.”

“I paid for the tickets, so if we don’t have actual seats, I’ll be cross,” he said. “That is, if you…”