“You say that like it’s reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“What were we eating in the messages? Half of them sounded like takeout.”
“That was evidence of a demanding work schedule.”
“That was evidence of a man who owns three frying pans and fears all of them.”
I laughed.
The expression on his face sharpened with satisfaction, as though making me laugh had become a task he intended to master.
“There’s chowder,” I said. “I made it yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“Caleb’s mother made it.”
“That explains your confidence.”
“Or we could order something.”
Noah considered.
“Burgers.”
“From Harborside Grill?”
“Do I like it?”
“You used to.”
His gaze tightened.
I corrected myself. “They make a good burger. You can decide whether you like it now.”
“Do they have onion rings?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ve decided.”
I took out my phone.
Noah watched while I ordered.
“People do everything through those now,” he said.
“Mostly.”
“I found an application that turns the lights on.”
“You insisted we install it.”
“Why?”
“You liked turning them off from bed.”
