“I’ll run a bath.” I collect her from the stool, smiling when she engulfs me with every limb, finding just enough energy to cling to me.

I make my way slowly up the stairs and set her neatly on the bed. “I don’t have time for a bath,” she says. “I’ll have a shower.”

“You have plenty of time.” All day, in fact, and I cannot wait to spend it with her. “We’ll grab some breakfast and go to The Manor mid-morning. Now, stretch.” I press my lips into her sweaty forehead and linger for a while, before I push myself up and head for the bathroom, naturally chewing on my bottom lip as I go, waiting for the fireworks to explode, my shoulders high in preparation. I flip on the taps and pour in some bath soak. Will she challenge me? Refuse? I swish the water, creating masses of bubbles.

“Jesse, I need to go to the office,” she calls, sounding uncharacteristically timid. She’s worried that I was serious when I hijacked her diary.

I was. “No, you don’t,” I call back. She will not win this one. Besides, I have an appointment. Doesn’t she want to spend the day with me? And it’s Friday. It’ll get my weekend off to the best start. I smile, excited at the prospect of three whole days indulging in her. In us. “Stretch.”

There’s silence for a few beats, but just when I think—and hope—she’s relented, she speaks up, albeit quietly. It’s the voice of someone who knows they’re fighting a losing battle. “All of my equipment is at the office. My computer programs, reference books, everything.”

I wander to the door and lean against the frame, finding her looking small in my big bed. Small and nervous. “And you need all that stuff?” I ask.

“Yes.” She shows the ceiling her hands, as if it’s an obvious answer. Nothing is obvious to me these days, only one thing. How I feel about her. “To do my job,” she adds.

Her job is to keep me in the light. “Okay, we’ll stop by your office.” Problem solved. I go back to the bathroom and check the bath, her sigh so loud I can hear it over the rushing water. I sit on the edge, gently gliding my hand through the bubbles, my eyes on the doorway, waiting for her to storm in and demand I stop being unreasonable. I’d like to think her lack of an appearance is because she’s concluded that devoting her day to me is too appealing to turn down. But I know she’s simply too exhausted to take me on.