At three p.m., Jules gave in. She texted:

How are you doing today?

She didn’t expect an instant response, but the ensuing fifteen minutes felt long until Vivian replied:

Tired.

She grimaced. Vivian’s tired was an ordinary person’s near-death exhaustion. She texted:

What do you need?

She expected an answer that would send her on an errand. Bring Vivian something, make a call, whatever. Instead, she got:

Come to dinner.

Her heart stopped. Then her lips stretched out in a wide grin as warmth spread through her body.

What should I bring?

Nothing. Ellen will make extra.

Vivian’s cook. Jules had never sampled her food, but if Vivian employed someone for six years, it was a good bet they were on top of their game. She was already salivating.

Sounds good. It’s quiet today, I can leave around 6

She could imagine Vivian’s stern face as she replied:

Don’t hurry if you still have work to do.

Jules laughed to herself.

OK, I’ll be good

I doubt it. See you tonight.

Nobody was watching. Jules clutched her phone to her chest and allowed herself one quiet, delighted squeal.

* * *

In the end, Jules left Koening at six twenty, thanks to a last-minute email. When she texted Vivian to let her know she’d be late, Vivian responded:

Good.

Jules looked thoughtfully at the reply. Vivian had probably sent countless messages about being late to all three of her husbands. No wonder she’d said “good.” Now she was with someone who understood.

She endured the cold walk to the subway and the ensuing crowded car with a grin on her face. I’m having dinner with Vivian. At her house. Because she’s super into me.

Then she thought about Vivian really getting into her, blushed, and fought back the surge of arousal. Down, girl.

When she arrived, she rang the bell, anticipating Vivian letting her in, perhaps with a small but affectionate smile.

After a moment, the door automatically unlocked.

Ah. Right. This was a smart home. That took a bit of the fun out. Jules still smiled when she entered the foyer and smelled the rich scent of cooking garlic.

She kicked the slush from her boots on the doormat, placed her bag on the side table, unbuttoned her coat, and looked at the hall closet with some trepidation. She’d been invited to dinner, but it seemed invasive just to put her coat right there next to Vivian’s things.

Jules opened the closet door, and to her relief saw a gray coat hanging there that was too big for Vivian. Ellen’s, then. She hung her own green wool peacoat next to it. She’d known Vivian wouldn’t be in the office and hadn’t expected to be invited over, so she just wore a fuzzy black sweater, a striped skirt, and black tights and boots. Plainer than her usual.

“Hello, Julia.”