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“Rested,” I said.

She reached across and took my hand and did not say anything for a while.

* * *

I left the spa feeling lighter than I had in weeks, convinced that Alexander had been entirely right to insist I spend the afternoon with Charlotte.

To my surprise, he was waiting just outside the spa entrance.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, smiling.

“I was nearby.”

I suspected that was only technically true, but I chose not to question it. Instead, I slipped my hand into his, and together we walked home.

That evening, he cooked for us.

It had become one of my favorite parts of the day. Winston stationed himself in the kitchen with his usual determination, Schubert played softly somewhere beyond the dining room, and Alexander opened a bottle of wine before returning to whatever was simmering on the stove. I offered to help, but he handed me a glass of wine instead.

“Keep me company.”

I sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island with my glass of wine and told him about the third cohort. Halfway through my explanation, he stopped chopping vegetables just long enough to ask the one question I had unintentionally skipped, and I found myself laughing as I started the story again from the beginning.

His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, as they always were when he cooked. In the past few weeks, I had developed an unreasonable appreciation for that particular detail.

He reached for the chopping board, pushing his sleeves a little higher as he did. I completely lost track of the differential.

“You’ve stopped,” he said.

“I have?”

“Several seconds ago.”

“I lost my place.”

He glanced at me, setting the knife down. He crossed the kitchen without haste, drying his hands on a tea towel as he came, until he was standing close enough that I had to tilt my head to look at him.

“What distracted you?” he asked quietly.

I felt the heat rise to my face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I think you do.”

I laughed. “I’m reviewing the evidence.”

“And?”

“I’ve identified the distraction.”

His smile deepened. “Have you?”

“I was trying to explain a differential,” I said. “Then you rolled your sleeves up.”

He was silent for a beat. “My sleeves.”

I nodded once.

“I see.” His expression softened into something warm enough to undo me. Without another word, he reached up, brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and kissed me. Slowly. Thoroughly.