“You planned lamb?”
“Earlier.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I also bought salad.”
“Less impressed.”
We locked the yard and went upstairs.
The lamb cooked quickly in a cast-iron pan with garlic and rosemary. I assembled salad while Reid sliced bread.
We ate at the table with the harbor windows open a crack to let out the smoke.
My phone remained silent.
Diane’s number stayed blocked.
The test results rested beside the green lamp.
After dinner, I sat on Reid’s lap.
Not because I needed care.
Because I wanted him.
His arms circled my waist.
“You’re tired,” he said.
“I slept four hours.”
“You experienced stress.”
“I used the plan.”
“You did.”
“I told you.”
“Yes.”
“I did not shut down.”
“No.”
Pride warmed his voice.
I kissed his cheek.
“Say it.”
“What?”
“That I handled it.”
“You handled it.”
