She pats at my hands as I collect chickpeas and goat cheese, red onion and pepper and cucumber from the fridge. A vinaigrette I whipped together a few days ago gets a sniff and a sneeze and eventually I have to put her down to put it all together into a salad, but she hops onto my lap as I sit down to eat and open Amy’s email with her spreadsheets. I guess now they’re my spreadsheets, too.

Fifi’s purrs vibrate along my legs as I stretch out on the couch, my phone screen propped up against her back, but my food sits forgotten on the coffee table as I slowly scroll.

I whistle low under my breath and the sound makes Fifi’s ears twitch. “Okay. So it’s tight.”

We’re on a razor’s edge, even with my investment. Not that I was under any impression that thirty thousand dollars in the restaurant industry was a lot. At a time like this, I miss Paul for his counsel. I don’t know much about the administration side of running a restaurant. Ask me to close a kitchen? Keep the appliances up to the health code? I’m your girl. But this is my first time running an actual business. And I can only imagine Amy’s fear. This restaurant is everything to her.

I should call her. We can figure this out together, like we have everything else so far.

The numbers on my phone screen disappear and Paul’s name flashes instead, as if I summoned him. He and Fifi were great buds so I answer the call with video, picking her up off my lap so her disgruntled little face will be on-screen.

“Fifi,” he exclaims as he registers us.

He’s somewhere on the street, his earbuds poking out of his ears and his nose red. I lift her paw in a wave. “What’s up?” I ask, bringing them both back into the kitchen. I set Paul up on the counter, leaning the phone against the fruit bowl so I can clean up, and Fifi on the ground, which gets me a disgruntled meow and a tail flip as she stalks from the room.

“How was the gym?”

I pat at my hair in its loose ponytail; my sweat has long since dried but left my hair frizzy.

“Great. What’s going on, Paul?” I ask again.

“Hold on.” The phone screen goes dark for a moment, then he reappears in his car. “Sorry about that. I was wondering what you were doing tonight?”

I frown and laugh at the same time. “Working?” I take a bite of leftover cucumber as my stomach starts to eat itself.

“After that.”

After that I’ll probably be with Amy. We’ve spent every night together this past week. But I’m not ready to tell Paul that. “I...don’t know what I’ll be doing...”

“Have dinner with me.”

My knife clatters to the countertop. I pick up the phone to see his face but of all the questions running through my brain I can’t pick one to ask. I settle for, “I won’t be done until ten. Maybe later.”