Noah answered badly with one hand.
I laughed all the way down.
The afternoon work went faster.
Not because the problems changed.
Because his mouth had.
Because the memory of Noah asking for me lived in my body like warmth.
At closing, Owen and Caleb left after making me promise not to stay past six.
I stayed until six twenty.
I completed the trawler estimate, confirmed the ferry schedule, placed the supplier order, and moved enough money to prevent another payment failure.
Then I locked the bays and carried my laptop upstairs.
Noah was asleep on the couch.
Marlowe lay lengthwise over his feet, head raised toward a wildlife documentary playing at low volume. A seal pup struggled through surf on the screen.
The harbor puzzle was nearly complete.
Photographs lay beside Noah’s journal.
Some showed us.
Some showed the yard.
One showed Noah standing in a narrow kitchen with copper-colored cabinets, holding a wooden spoon and laughing at whoever had taken the picture.
Me.
I had taken it.
The apartment had been his first place in Greyhaven after leaving Denver. The kitchen was barely wide enough for two people to stand without touching.
We had always found a way.
I placed my laptop quietly on the table.
Noah stirred.
His eye opened.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What time?”
“Six twenty.”
“You’re late.”
“By twenty minutes.”
