“Oh, Lord.” I roll my eyes. “That’s the horseshit she’s been feeding you?”

“It’s not horseshit. You can be intimidating, Abby.”

“Oh, really? Do you find me intimidating?”

“The first time I met you, I did,” he admits. He smiles crookedly. “You had on that power outfit of yours with the matching black skirt and short jacket and your hair up in that elaborate knot. It was so goddamn sexy. You got me so nervous. I didn’t even know what I was saying.”

I can’t suppress a smile. “You mostly started talking about math.”

“I know—that’s what I do when I’m nervous. I thought I’d made a complete idiot out of myself. I couldn’t believe it when you agreed to go to dinner with me. I almost didn’t bother asking.”

My anger from earlier is starting to fade. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” He lifts the lid from the pot one more time and fishes out a meatball with his fork. “Want to taste?”

“Um, you first.”

He clutches his chest with his free hand. “Are you afraid to try my meatballs?”

I peer at the lopsided gray blob hanging off the fork. “What is in them?”

“Well, ground beef, obviously. Um… breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, an egg…”

Bread crumbs, parmesan cheese, and an egg. How could he mess that up?

I lean forward and take a bite from the meatball on his fork. And…

“Sam!” I cry. “This has eggshells in it!”

“It does?” He looks down at the meatball, baffled. He takes a tentative bite. “Oh. It does. Damn.”

He looks down at the pot of meatballs, crestfallen. I want to tell him I’m willing to eat them anyway, but I’m not. Crunchy meatballs are not pleasant to eat. Even to spare my husband’s feelings. Plus I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to eat them either.

“Pizza?” I say.

He sighs. “Sure.”

But before I can grab my phone, Sam reaches out to take my hand. “Hey,” he says.

“Yes?”

His brown eyes meet mine. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to lunch with Monica.”

“Oh…”

He squeezes my hand in his. “I figured… well, I didn’t think it was a big deal when she asked me, and honestly, she’s doing so much for us, I felt like I owed her. But then when I was there, I realized it was a mistake. I knew you’d be hurt if you found out, and I felt terrible about it. I felt like an asshole.”

Sam is really good at apologizing. He’s harder on himself than I would ever be on him.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You’re right—it wasn’t that big a deal. I mean, it was just lunch.”

“I won’t do it again. I promise.”