Suzanne took a deep breath, sighed, and nodded, game. So Grant would be game too. They got on the GW Parkway and made their way up the Potomac. They had been looking at houses in Virginia for seven hours now. Seven.

“It’s on the expensive side—I won’t lie,” Nina said. “But you won’t be sorry. It’s where I live. It’s idyllic. I don’t show it to just anyone.”

Grant closed his eyes and rolled them. Hopefully Suzanne would see the next house, love it, they’d sign the contract, and that would be it. Finito. No more being stuck in a car with Nina Strauss. She put on such a nice face, but she wasn’t nice. “Davenport-Gardner,” she’d said, her expression mocking when they met this morning. “Hyphenated . . . Both of you?”

What if he were cast as Nina Strauss in a play? He’d wear a wig—a Ruth Bader Ginsberg wig, if such a thing existed. Nina’s hair was black and lay flat like spray paint against her scalp and was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. He looked down at his lap, practicing the smile that looked too large for Nina’s face. Her entire being tightened up when she smiled, not just the tendons in her neck, but practically even the skin on the backs of her hands. She looked about fifty, but he suspected she was younger.

He tapped his fitness tracker to check the time, steps, calories, and heart rate, even though he’d checked it when they got in the car. Then he tapped it again. In just a few short days he’d be starting his new job at a small law firm in Rosslyn, Virginia. He would be the low man on the totem pole, the new kid in town, a stranger. The idea made him want to go running back to his firm in Richmond, where they wore khakis and shirtsleeves when they weren’t in court and he knew all the judges. He touched Suzanne’s elbow for courage. She didn’t reach back for him, but nor did she pull away. They were making progress.

He’d made some bad decisions in his life—he’d be the first to admit it—but he’d made some good ones too. Becoming a lawyer had been a good choice. A more responsible choice than becoming an actor. As a child Grant had reenacted entire sitcoms for his mother while she cooked dinner. Those pockets of time before his father got home from the family hardware store were among the sweetest of Grant’s childhood.