“It’s not like you’re my first choice.” I slide the soda he offers me closer and pick at the tab. “Which isn’t against you or whatever—I’m just saying, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t my only option.” The listing crinkles under my elbow on his kitchen table. “Even if it’s just a few weeks, you’d be helping me out a lot.”

Levi sighs and takes a long blink. “I’ve only got one extra room. Two if I give up my office, which I’d rather not do. And if you’re in it, but somebody long-term applies—”

“A month.” I crack the soda and sip. “That’s all I need. And it’s the amount of time it takes to find, interview, and approve someone else, right? Assuming they apply, like...tomorrow.” Now I unveil my first nuclear attack. “Which seems kind of unlikely, since I heard from Cohen you’re not getting many offers.”

His jaw sets, but the way he rubs his forehead tells me I haven’t angered him. He just hates that I’m right.

“And,” I add, opening my pocketbook, “I’ve got the rent, right now.” He stares at the money I hold out to him. “Cash.”

Slowly, he flips the edges of the bills with his thumb.

“Count it, if you want. It’s exactly what the ad said.”

He nods, but sets the money back on the table between us.

“I guess,” he says, after a minute, “I’m just confused. Why would you want to stay with somebody you barely know? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a...a motel, or something?”

If I could stop myself from bristling, I would. “I don’t do motels. Ever.”

Levi holds up his hands with a tired expression, like I’m high-maintenance. Fine. I’ve never been one to beg.

“Forget it.” I put the money back into my purse and stand. “You needed roommates, I needed a place until my tips at work pick up...just thought it was a win-win, that’s all.” On my way to the door, I look at him over my shoulder. “Hope you find someone soon.”

His chair scrapes the tiles as he follows me. “Well, hang on. I didn’t say no.”

“You couldn’t be more unenthusiastic about this,” I laugh, turning to face him in the foyer. “Look, really...it’s okay. You don’t want a temporary roommate. I get it.”

“You’re right, though. Temporary is better than nothing. And...and I need the money.” A faint blush paints his cheeks, and he puts his hands in his pockets. “Business always, uh...slows down, in the fall.”

I feel kind of bad, ragging on him about how much he needs my money, even if it’s true. “Don’t forget,” I add, “you’d be helping out a displaced fire victim.”

His smile flashes. “That, too.”

I look around. The place is nice: newish construction, contemporary, lots of space. Not my style, but definitely doable for a few weeks.

It wasn’t a lie when I told him he wasn’t my first choice; I’ve spent the last twelve hours combing rental guides and online listings, but no one’s answering their phones on a Sunday. Juliet and Cohen are on their honeymoon, and who’d want to crowd a couple newlyweds, anyway? A nice hotel could work for a few days, but I’d be broke long before I saved first and last months’ rents.

Besides—I like the idea of helping Levi as much as he’s helping me. Tit for tat. In addition to motels, I don’t do charity. It’s why I refused the free hotel room the Red Cross offered me. Would it have made this day a hell of a lot easier? Yes. Would it have also made me feel two inches tall and absolutely pathetic? Hell, yes.

“In that case,” I say, setting down my bag of hastily-purchased clothes with a flourish, “say hello to your new roommate.”

“And this is yours.” I stop in the doorway of the guest bedroom while Mara paces around it. “Bathroom’s across the hall, there are clean towels in your closet…I already showed you the laundry room....” My voice trails. “I guess that’s it.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and bounces. “It’s nice. Thanks.”

“Thank you.” I pat the pocket with my wallet, where her money now resides. First thing tomorrow, I can catch up on my mortgage. This whole idea still has me wary, but the cash-upfront thing helps, for sure.

We’re quiet a few seconds, Mara running her hand over the bedspread, me pretending to check the paint on her doorframe.

“You’re probably exhausted. With the fire, and everything.” I back into the hall and wave, about to wish her goodnight, when she laughs and flops back on the bed.

“Yeah, right. I’ve got about a gallon of adrenaline, after this morning.” Her eyes slide shut. For the first time since she arrived, even when she told me about her apartment, her face takes on a tinge of sadness.

“Did you lose anything irreplaceable?” I hover in the doorway, one foot in her room. “Sentimental things?”

“Just about everything I owned was sentimental.” The sadness ebbs away as she snorts. “The messed-up thing is, I just did a huge purge last month, culling shit down to only what I really cared about. The whole minimalist deal. Now I’m as minimalist as they come.” One of her eyes cracks open, finds me, and closes again as she scoots closer to the foot of the bed. She pats the mattress.

I hesitate, then sit.

“Know what I miss the most, though?” She looks at me. “It was these shitty, dried-out markers I hadn’t touched in years. In a Crown Royal bag. Top shelf of my wardrobe.”

“They didn’t work?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then why’d you keep them?”

“Because it was easier than letting them go.” Mara rolls off the foot of the bed and stands, groaning as she stretches. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t remember those old Pageant Girl dolls?”

I shake my head. She sighs and bites her thumbnail.

“Okay, well—they were these dolls. Kind of expensive, had about ten thousand accessories you of course had to buy separately...but my mom and I loved them. They were our thing, you know? And...and the markers, they went with my favorite doll, Kiki. You could draw on her little denim overalls, then take them off and wash them, and just start over.” Her mouth twitches with a smile, then seems to right itself. “Anyway...that’s what I miss the most. Those stupid old markers. Which tells you a lot about what a packrat I am. Was. And a senseless one, at that.”

“If it helps, I’m not so great at minimalism, myself.”

“This place does still look like a woman lives here,” she adds, cringing, like telling me the truth hurts her more than me.

Thing is, it doesn’t hurt me at all. I know my house looks almost no different than when Lindsay lived here. A little more room, sure, but the furniture, décor, paint colors: it’s still what Lindsay chose, the year we moved in.

A forgotten urge to turn this into a joke, the way my brother does—the way I used to—takes over.

“Are you saying my tastes are feminine? That bedspread is a genuine Kate Spade, I’ll have you know.”

Mara laughs with her head thrown back, unbound, teeth shining in the recessed lights like that night at the hospital. It makes me laugh too, happy just to hear it.

“This is gonna be fun,” she winks, falling back onto the bed when I rise. “I’ve actually really missed living with other people.”

“Same,” I tell her, and then marvel at how easily this answer came about. You never notice how little space you need until you have to fill it by yourself.

“About last night,” she calls, after I’ve waved again and turned into the hall, “I want you to know...to me, that and this are totally separate.” I hear her take a breath as I face her again. “Like, what happened between us, that was its own thing. One night. And what’s happening now, that’s its own thing.”

“Oh.” For whatever reason, my neck and face grow warm.

“You look confused.”

“No, I get what you’re saying. I just don’t get why you said it. We already agreed last night was it.”

“Right, no. I mean, I know you know that. I wanted to make sure we…still agreed, that’s all.”

It’s a little insulting she felt the need to remind me of our parameters. As though she expects me to get crazy and clingy, simply because I’m divorced. Like marriage was a drug and I’m in withdrawal, looking anywhere for the fix.

“Yep. Well, we do.” Before she can say something else, I put my hands in my pockets and start for my room. “Goodnight.”

She doesn’t say it back until I’m at the end of the hall. It’s the quietest response I’ve ever heard her give.