Noah had shifted toward the window, leaving space.
I lowered myself carefully onto the mattress.
It dipped beneath my weight.
His body tensed.
I remained flat on my back with both hands visible above the blanket.
“Is this too much?”
“No.”
“We can stop.”
“No.”
The room settled around us.
The harbor murmured through the cracked window. Marlowe sighed at our feet. Green light from the hallway painted a dim shape across the ceiling.
Noah stared upward.
“Did we talk in bed?”
“Sometimes.”
“About what?”
“Work. Our families. Things we wanted.”
“What did we want?”
“A larger haul-out bay. A trip to Nova Scotia. You wanted another dog.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“Marlowe would hate that.”
“Marlowe hates all change.”
“Like you.”
“I adapt.”
“You slept on an office couch rather than ask whether I wanted you here.”
“That was restraint.”
“That was stupidity.”
I smiled in the dark.
“What did you want?” he asked.
“You.”
