I moved over, wrapping the blanket over his shoulders, feeling the heat of his body. His barefooted body, a good ten degrees warmer than mine.

“So tell me,” he said. “What was your favorite thing today?”

This was something we sometimes did on days we got home late—on days we were too tired to get into the big stuff. We each picked one thing from the day to tell each other about. One good thing from our separate lives.

“I actually think I have a pretty cool idea for a little treat for Bailey,” I said. “I’m going to re-create the brown butter pasta for dinner tomorrow night. You know, the one we had on her birthday at Poggio? Don’t you think she’ll love that?”

He wrapped his arm more tightly around my waist, kept his voice low. “Are you asking me if she’ll love that? Or if that will make her love you?”

“Hey. Not nice.”

“I’m trying to be nice,” he said. “Bailey’s lucky to have you. And she’s going to come around to that. Pasta experiment or not.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugged. “I know things.”

I didn’t say anything, not exactly believing him. I wanted him to do more to bridge the gap between Bailey and me, even if I didn’t know what that could possibly be. If he wasn’t going to do that, I at least wanted him to tell me I was doing everything I could.

As if hearing my thoughts, he pushed my hair off my face. He kissed the side of my neck.

“She really loved that pasta though,” he said. “It’s a sweet thing to do.”

“That’s all I’m saying!”

He smiled. “I should be able to duck out of work early tomorrow. If you’re in the market for a sous chef?”

“I am,” I said.

“Count me in then,” he said. “I’m yours.”

I put my head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” I said. “Okay. Now you.”

“Favorite part of my day?” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “And don’t cop out and say right now.”

He laughed. “Shows how well you know me,” he said. “I wasn’t going to say right now.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said.

“What were you going to say?”

“Sixty seconds ago,” he said. “It was cold outside the blanket.”

Follow the Money

Jules doesn’t leave until after 2 A.M.

She offers to stay over, and maybe I should have let her because I barely get any sleep.

I lay awake most of the night on the living room couch, unable to face my bedroom without Owen. I wrap myself up in an old blanket and wait out the dark, playing it over and over in my head—the last thing Jules said before she left.