THE NEXT WEEK PASSES in much the same way.

I stay in bed until he leaves in the mornings. We both work, and I’m careful to stay no longer than my allotted time even if it means I have to stop in the middle of writing an email. We have dinner in front of the television in the evenings, and I go upstairs by nine, mostly just to get away from him. We talk about work, about food, about schedules. Nothing any deeper.

And it’s misery.

It’s not like it was at the beginning of our marriage. It’s way worse than that. Every conversation with him hurts me, and I have to try to act casual and nonchalant so he won’t suspect how miserable I am.

I’ve never had any problems putting on a show for people before. Pretending I like people I don’t. Pretending I’m happy when I’m sad. Pretending I don’t want to scratch someone’s eyes out when I do.

It’s never been hard for me, putting on a show for the world.

This is different.

I’m not sure how long I can do it.

The Saturday after my heart was broken, Melissa calls me unexpectedly and tells me Pop wants to take us all out for dinner tonight.

It’s so strange I’m not even sure she’s serious at first.

“I know it’s weird,” Melissa says. “He said he’s got reservations at Tempo, that new restaurant downtown. It’s supposed to be really upscale and trendy, which isn’t Pop’s thing at all. But he was making a really big deal about it, so I think he’s taking it seriously. I think we should do it if we can.”

“When he says us all, he means...”

“All of us. Us. Husbands. Everyone.”

“You know Owen and I aren’t really doing all that well right now.”

“I know that. But he’ll go out to dinner with your family, won’t he? I mean, he’s not going to be that much of an asshole about it.”

“He’s not an asshole at all.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t sound like that. He’s not.”

“You know I agree with Eva on this issue. Whatever his reasons, he didn’t treat you right.”

I can’t go into this whole conversation again—I feel like I’ve had versions of it every day this week. It will make me cry, and I’ve been doing well about staying composed today. “He’s trying his best.”

“Okay. If he’s trying, then he’s not going to put up a fight about doing something simple like going out to dinner. Is he?”

I know he won’t say no if I ask him. I just don’t want to ask him.

If he needs space from me, he’s not going to want to sit through an uncomfortable dinner with my family. He’s already forced into Sunday supper.

But I have no good excuse, so I tell Melissa we’ll make it if at all possible.

Owen says he can go. He doesn’t smile—he never smiles at me anymore—but he doesn’t argue or try to get out of it.

So several hours later, we’re in his fancy car on our way to the restaurant.

He hasn’t said a word.

“I have no idea what Pop wants with this dinner,” I say, trying to make conversation, trying to act natural when I feel anything but.

Owen turns his head and rests his eyes on my face for a few moments, so I know he’s listening. But he doesn’t say anything.

“He normally doesn’t like to go out to eat, which might sound odd because he owns a chain of restaurants. But he’s only really liked his own food and the café next door to his office building where he always eats lunch.”

Again, Owen is clearly listening, but doesn’t reply.

A normal person would reply.

It seems a basically polite thing to do.

Why the hell can’t Owen say something, try to help me out? He’s got to know I’m trying here.

The twisting of grief and anxiety that’s been sitting in my gut all week suddenly tightens into something else.

Something akin to indignation.

Hit with the spark of contrariness I haven’t felt for a while, I keep a bland smile on my face and continue, “This new restaurant is supposed to be good. The chef is coming from a place in New York.”

No answer. Just a slight inclination of his head.

I press on, not willing to give up now. “They’re supposed to be booked for weeks out, which is very unusual in Charleston. I’m not sure how Pop got reservations at the last minute like this.”

Nothing.

I grit my teeth as I smile. “He’s always been able to get things he wants though. He’s got connections everywhere. Your family is probably similar.”

I wait, still vaguely hoping he’ll jump in and be something other than mute. His hair is slightly mussed, but he shaved before we left the house. I can tell because he doesn’t have any bristles. His hazel eyes are perfectly sober as they move from my face to the road.

This isn’t him.

I know it’s not him.

He’s quiet, but even at his worst when we first met, he didn’t respond to conversation with nothing.

Nothing.

I haven’t done anything to deserve this.

I wasn’t the one who pushed him away.

I’m suddenly so angry I’m almost shaking with it.

I want to challenge him. Force the issue with him. I shape another smile. “Before they moved to Florida, did your family get treated like royalty in town? Like Pop does?”

There. A direct question.

He either needs to answer it or treat me like I’m nothing.

“Yes,” he says, his voice rough like he hasn’t used it for a long time.

He hasn’t.

I haven’t heard him really talk all week.

I wait, but he offers no more than the one word. I’m stewing. Breathing heavily. And I’m positive that if the car ride took even a minute longer, I would completely blow up at him.

But we’ve reached the restaurant, and Owen is pulling up to the curb for the attendant to park the car.

So everything I’m so close to yelling at him gets bottled up again.

We’re the last ones to arrive. Pop wears his normal jeans with a corduroy blazer. Melissa and Trevor look sleek and stylish, and Hunter and Sam look like they might have had sex on the way over. I’m not sure why that occurs to me, but it does.

It makes me feel even worse as I loop my hand in the arm of my silent husband.

My sisters found men who really love them, who see them as special, who genuinely consider them the best thing that’s ever happened to them.

Who believe they’re the most important thing.

I thought briefly that Owen might be that man for me, but I was stupid.

I was wrong.

I’ll never be the most important thing to him.

And now he won’t even talk to me, so I’m not sure I’m anything to him at all.

The restaurant doesn’t have our table ready, so the dinner already starts off on the wrong foot. Pop isn’t happy with this development, even though the host offers us free drinks at the bar.

We all accept the offer, moving over to crowd around a small, round bar table.

I sip my pear martini and stand next to Owen. He’s listening to the conversation but not participating. He’s also not touching me.

Trevor’s got his arm around Melissa, and Hunter is holding Sam’s hand.

And Owen won’t even brush up against me.

My sisters notice, but they also know the reasons.

Pop also notices, and I see a question on his face whenever his eyes glance over toward my husband and me.

It upsets me more than anything else this evening.

That Pop might see that something’s wrong between Owen and me.

That he will be proven right.

Owen does care more about his company than he does about me.

And I am too silly and immature to pick out a good husband, to make even a business arrangement work.

Maybe Pop was always right about me.

Maybe everyone was right.

Everyone but Owen.

He always told me I was worthwhile, but then he treated me as anything but.

I’m angry again. So angry I tighten my hands into fist at my sides.

Eva is right.

My sisters are right.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

Owen was an asshole to me last weekend.

And he’s still being an asshole right now.

If I could shake him or yell at him at this moment, I probably would have. But I’m stuck making small talk over drinks with my family as Pop drums his fingers impatiently on the table and occasionally glances over at me, as if checking if everything is all right with Owen and me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was concerned.

I think of something to do.

While Trevor is telling a funny story about a client and making everyone laugh, I press myself against Owen’s side and nuzzle his neck.

His body stiffens dramatically.

“Don’t act like I’m going to bite you,” I murmur, right in his ear. “Pop can see that you’re acting weird, and I don’t want him to worry. You’re supposed to be my husband, so act like it for a few minutes, if you don’t think it will kill you.”

He tilts his head and meets my eyes, and I see his brows knitted together like he’s confused, like he’s trying to figure something out.

I plant a big, sloppy kiss on his jaw. “I mean it,” I whisper harshly. “This is my family. I’m your wife. Act like it.”

He turns his head and kisses me, and for a fake kiss it’s not bad.

I know his real kiss. Earnest. Focused. Urgent.

This kiss isn’t real, but it will probably look like it is to other people.

I giggle and snuggle against him, turning back toward the group.

Sam is frowning at me.

I smile at her.

She knows I don’t mean it, but she doesn’t say anything.

Our table is finally ready, so we have a reprieve in the shuffle out of the bar and into the dining room to take our places. Then we have to order, and then Melissa, Hunter, and Pop get into a long conversation about work, which takes the burden off me to act normal.

I sit and listen and pick at my food when it comes.

I’m not usually a picker. I really like to eat. But I’ve had a knot of emotion in my belly all week, and my rising indignation just makes it churn around even more.

I’m not hungry.

Owen replies to direct questions—not from me, since I don’t say a word to him—and it probably doesn’t surprise anyone that he doesn’t initiate conversation himself. He’s always been quiet at Sunday supper except that one time he called Pop out about me.

I keep touching Owen. As much as possible.

And I know it’s not just because I want Pop to think things are fine in my marriage.

The real reason is that I want to provoke a reaction out of Owen. Any reaction.

I want to snap him out of the thick shell he’s crawled into.

I’ve been nice and understanding and compliant long enough. He didn’t treat me right. And now I want to do something.

And touching him is the only thing I can do right now.

So I play with the hair at the back of his neck. And I fiddle with his fingers on the table. And I lean against him, dropping my head on his shoulder, at every opportunity.

He’s studying me, whenever he thinks he can get away with it. Scrutinizing my face. Trying to figure out what I’m thinking.

It’s something, but it’s not what I want.

Pop always orders dessert, so the dinner goes on a long time. He’s talking to the server about our dessert order when he looks at me and asks in his curt way, “What’ll you have, girl?”

I’m about to answer when Owen says, “Chelsea.”

Pop blinks.

I blink.

Everyone blinks.

Owen’s expression is grave. “Her name is Chelsea.”

Pop clears his throat. Opens his mouth to say something but then must change his mind. “Chelsea,” he says. “What’ll you have?”

I’m stunned. Bewildered. And almost in tears for no good reason as I explain I want the chocolate caramel cake.

When the server leaves with our orders, I can’t hold on to my composure anymore. I stand up so abruptly my chair wobbles.

Owen steadies it.

“Sorry.” I’m trying and failing to smile. “I’ve got to go the bathroom. Excuse me for a minute.”

I leave to the table’s murmured responses and am shocked when I discover that Owen has followed me.

We’re out of the dining room now. In the wide, back hallway that leads to the restrooms.

“Chelsea,” Owen says when I glance back and then keep walking.

His saying my name snaps the last thread of my control. I whirl around. “What do you want?”

“Why are you mad at me?” His face is tense. It looks like he’s sweating a little. His eyes are strangely aching.

“I’m not mad.” It’s an automatic answer. The one I’d give anyone. Then I suddenly hear myself and hate it. “Yes, I am mad!”

“I know you are. You’ve been mad since the ride over here. I want to know why.”

“You want to know why? You want to know why?” My voice is getting shrill. I try to keep it down. I really do. We’re in the hall, but it’s open to the main part of the restaurant. If we’re loud, everyone in there will hear us.

“Yes. I want to know why. You weren’t mad before, but you are now.” He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me slightly so I’m facing him. “What happened?”

“You happened!”

He frowns, his eyebrows pulling together again. “What did I do?”

“You know what you did! How can you even ask that of me?”

“I know what happened last weekend, and I’m really sorry about it. I know it was a shitty thing to send you back upstairs. But I thought you’d be pissed at first and then get over it. I didn’t think you’d be mad about it now.”

He’s telling me the truth. Being completely earnest as he always is.

His voice is hoarse as he moves his hand up to my jaw, cupping it almost tenderly. “I didn’t think it would be... be that big a deal to you.”

I choke.

I literally choke on my outrage.

It takes me a minute to clear my throat, and then I jerk my head away from his hand. “You didn’t think it would be a big deal? That’s really what you think? Well, screw you, Owen! Maybe it’s not a big deal to you to have a wife for a while and then to push her away for no good reason, but it’s a big deal to me. You... hurt me. Really badly. So I’m sorry if I can’t just brush it away like it’s nothing. I’m evidently not as heartless as you.” I’m spitting the words out but still making an effort to keep my voice down so no one in the dining room hears.

Owen freezes at my outburst. His mouth drops open slightly, and he reaches out for me again. “Chelsea, what the fuck—”

I’m not sure what he’s planning to touch, but I can’t let him touch any part of my body. “Fuck you, Owen Masterson! You keep saying you’re not an asshole, but that’s exactly what you are. We had something good. I kept thinking I was silly and immature to believe that, but I know now I wasn’t silly or immature at all. You were the stupid one! I’m worth more than this. I deserve to be treated better than this. I did good work for Masterson’s, and I was a good wife to you. We could have had something... really special. Now we don’t have anything because you’re a stupid asshole after all. But you don’t get to stand there and look all shocked and innocent like you’re not the one who did this to us.”

I’m not sure where the tirade even came from, but I don’t even regret it. Even if my voice got a little too loud at the end.

There are tears streaming down my cheeks, and Owen is staring at me in astonished awe.

That’s what it looks like.

Awe.

And it stabs me in the chest like a blade.

He has no right to look at me like that.

He has no right to make me feel a sudden well of hope.

He has no right to trick me into thinking he has feelings like that for me.

I know he doesn’t.

He’s made that clear over and over again.

I make a little sobbing sound and run for the bathroom.

“Chelsea!” Owen’s voice is hoarse, almost panicked. Way too loud for a restaurant. He’s chasing me, grabbing for my arm. “Chelsea, sweetheart, wait!”

I give another choked sob at the endearment, but I’ve reached the door now. I fling it open, shake off his grip, and manage to get inside and slam the door on his face.

A fast look proves I’m alone in the women’s restroom. I lean against the door and cry.

Owen is pounding on the door. “Chelsea, please come out and talk to me.”

“You had all week to talk, and you didn’t. I’ve got nothing to say to you right now.”

“We do have things to talk about. Please come out.” I hardly recognize his voice and not just because it’s muffled by the thick door.

I somehow know he won’t try to get into the women’s restroom. Owen is a rule follower, and the sign on the door will be an impassable barrier.

Just then I feel the door move. “If there’s anyone else in there,” Owen calls, “tell them I’m coming in.”

“Owen, no!” I press my back to the door and brace my feet on the floor to keep him from opening it.

He’s trying. I feel the pressure against my back.

He’s actually trying to get into the women’s restroom.

He could force his way in. He’s stronger than me. But he must know I’m blocking the door and any more force would send me tumbling.

He lets up and bursts out, “Damn it, Chelsea!”

“Don’t say ‘damn it’ to me that way! I’m not the one who messed things up.”

“I know you didn’t. I know it now. Please let me talk to you and explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. I’ve already told you what I think about you.”

“But I didn’t know that! I didn’t know any of it! I had no idea you... you... thought we were real. That you’d want... That you’d be hurt like this by what I did. I had no idea.”

My whole body is flushed with heat, and it’s excitement as well as outrage. But I can’t let myself believe what it sounds like Owen is saying. “You didn’t know? Oh my God, Owen. You expect me to believe that? How clueless could a person be?”

“He can be this clueless.” His voice changes, like he’s leaning right next to the door. “He can be exactly this clueless. I promise I didn’t know. I had no idea. You think I ever would have sent you away if I’d known you really wanted to stay? For real? You think I ever would have done that?”

“You did do that.”

“I know I did. I was confused and terrified of how much I was feeling for you and paralyzed by the thought of what I would do at the end of the year when I lost you. I... I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t know what to do. So I was an asshole. You’re absolutely right. I did what I thought would protect me. I had no idea you would get hurt like this.”

I’m bawling silently, shaking against the door. “I did get hurt.” I manage to gasp.

“I know, Chelsea. I know that now. I’m so sorry. If it makes you feel any better, my attempt to protect myself didn’t work. I’ve been in agony all week. I’ve barely been able to make it through the days without you.”

“Good,” I say with a few sniffs.

“I deserve it. I deserve all that misery and a lot more. I had you, and you were everything I wanted. And then I actually let you go.”

“You didn’t just let go. You pushed me away.”

“I know I did. But I’m not going to do it again.”

I mop at my face with the back of my hands and try to figure out what to do. “I want to believe you.”

“You can believe me. I promise you can. You’re everything, Chelsea Greyson. Everywhere. You’re the air I breathe.”

I’m crying again. This time I know he can hear it.

“Oh sweetheart, please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Then let me in so I can hold you.”

I want him to hold me. I want him to hold me forever.

But I’m so afraid of making a mistake again. I’ve never been smart about men.

Then I hear something different from the other side of the door.

Wise men say...

Owen’s voice.

Singing.

I make a gurgling sound. “Owen, what the hell—”

He continues like I didn’t say anything.

...only fools rush in.

He’s singing.

Standing outside the women’s restroom in a crowded restaurant and singing.

An Elvis song.

“Oh my God, Owen, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. He continues the song. All the words. And then the chorus two times.

On the final chorus, he’s really belting it out. Take my hand, take my whole life too. The whole restaurant must be hearing him. For I can't help falling in love with you.

I’m laughing and sobbing and dangerously close to collapsing with emotion as I throw open the door on the final line.

I’m greeted by Owen’s flushed, damp, ardent face and a chorus of cheers from a crowd that’s gathered in the other end of the hall.

Owen turns to look, like he didn’t know the other people were there.

“Do you mean it?” I ask. “The song?”

He blinks at me. “Of course I do.”

“You’re falling in love with me?”

“No.” He takes my hand and holds it in both of his. “I fell in love with you a long time ago.”

I pull him into the bathroom because the cheers and laughter from all those strangers are starting to unnerve me, and he pulls me into a tight hug.

“Oh fuck, Chelsea, I love you so much,” he mumbles into my neck. “If you’ll forgive me for being a stupid asshole, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving how much. Making sure you know how incredible you are. How special. How much you’re worth.”

I’m sobbing again—right into his shirt. But I manage to pull it together enough to stretch up and say into his ear, “I love you too.”

***

WE STAY IN THE BATHROOM for about ten minutes, but eventually we have to come out and face the restaurant.

And my family.

All of them but Pop are trying to hide grins, and Pop just raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” I say. I glance at Sam. “Did you hear everything?”

“We couldn’t hear whatever happened before it, but we heard the song.” Sam is no longer hiding her smile. “We all heard the song.”

“Everyone heard the song,” Melissa adds with a soft laugh.

Owen ducks his head and mumbles something. He’s still holding my hand.

Trevor laughs and gives Owen a soft punch on the shoulder. “You can really belt out the Elvis.”

This leads to general laughter, and even Pop chuckles a little.

It means something to me.

To all of us.

As I catch up on my dessert, Pop says, “I do have something to say. Not that it’ll be as exciting a performance, but I’ve got an announcement.”

We all turn to look. It’s clear no one knows what’s coming.

No one could possibly predict what Pop says next.

“I’m getting married.”

Sam gasps, and Trevor chokes slightly on his coffee.

“You’re getting married, Pop?” Melissa asks, her eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen them.

“Yep. Asked her last night. She said yes.”

“Who is she?” I ask. “We didn’t even know you were dating.”

“We weren’t. Dating is a silly, modern contrivance. I’ve known the lady for several years from church. I always admired her. But I was busy with work and I thought you girls... I thought you still needed me.” He looks almost sheepish, which is very unusual for Pop.

This whole conversation is unusual.

“But I’ve been seeing lately that you’re all grown up. All of you.” He meets my eyes as if this is significant, and the gesture makes my chest ache. “You’ve found you some good men, and you don’t need me running your lives anymore. So I figured it was time for me to move on.”

“When are you getting married?” Hunter asks over the low murmur of response.

“Couple of months. We’ll just have a simple ceremony. But I wanted to tell you tonight because I’m inviting her over for Sunday supper tomorrow night. Her and her daughter.”

“She has a daughter?” Sam gasps.

“Grown daughter. ’Bout your age. I hope y’all will treat her like family. She and her mama have been alone for a long time.”

We assure him that we would, and we offer genuine congratulations. The evening ends really well—in all aspects.

And I try not to worry about that poor adult daughter of Pop’s fiancée.

She has no idea what’s in store for her, joining this particular family.

***

WHEN OWEN AND I GET home, I wash my face and change clothes since I feel like a mess after my breakdown in the bathroom.

I come out to find that Owen has collapsed in his recliner. His eyes are closed, and he’s got it reclined all the way back.

“Really? You’re sleeping in your recliner? Tonight?” My voice is fond rather than annoyed.

He really looks quite adorable there.

He opens his eyes. “I’m not sleeping. Just waiting for you.”

“You want to have sex or something?” I come to stand right beside him.

He reaches for my hand and tugs until I end up in the recliner with him, snuggled up at his side.

He wraps an arm around me and gives a hoarse sigh. “I do want to have sex. We’re definitely going to do that tonight. But I think I need to recover a little first.”

I giggle. “Recover from what?”

“From being alive. And over forty. And in love. And having a broken heart for the past week.”

“Your fault.”

“I know that. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now.”

“I don’t understand how you didn’t realize I cared about you too.”

He frowns and lifts his head. “What’s this about caring about me? I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you.” I nuzzle his shirt. “I’m just saying that I can kind of understand if you didn’t realize I was in love with you, but I don’t understand how you didn’t know I at least cared a lot about you. That I’d be really hurt by what you did. I didn’t know you loved me, but I knew at least you cared about me.”

“I did know that. At least I think I did. I figured it would hurt you a little, and I could see it did. But I never thought... I just couldn’t imagine... I mean, you’re young and gorgeous and vibrant and so incredibly sweet. You could have any man you wanted. Literally, any man.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Some men are married or in a relationship. Some men are gay or asexual or just not into romance. Some men just don’t want me.”

“Okay—I’ll accept the first two, but not the last one. Anyone who knows you would want you.”

I’m giggling again. I can’t seem to help it. “That’s not been my experience, but it’s clear that you believe it.”

“I do. And I always have. So I just couldn’t fathom a world in which you would... you would choose me. So that’s why I didn’t know. That’s why I was such a clueless asshole.”

“That’s okay.” I press a messy kiss against his throat. “I forgive you.”

“Good.”

We lay together, holding each other for a long time.

I didn’t realize it before, but I’m exhausted too. And relaxing here with Owen feels exactly right.

After a while, he says, “I do want to tell you something.”

His tone makes my spine stiffen. “What? Something bad?”

“No. Nothing bad.” He presses a few kisses against my hair. “Just something I wasn’t entirely... open about.”

“What is it?”

“I saw you several months ago.”

I’m frowning, confused and trying to read the odd note in his voice. “You saw me?”

“Yes. A month or two before our interview. I saw you. I was having lunch with Trevor downtown, and you were coming out of a restaurant across the street with your friend. Eva.”

I have no idea what to expect from this confession. “You saw me?”

“Yes. I was just looking out the window, and there you were. You were wearing this purple dress, and the sun was shining on your hair, and you were smiling in my direction, and I...”

“You what?” I turn so I can see him better.

He swallows. “I was gone. And then you...” He clears the throat. “There was a crow perched on a trash can. He must have been squawking at you or something because you turned to the crow and talked to him, like you were having a conversation.”

I suddenly remember the day he’s referring to. “Oh yeah! I remember that sassy crow. It seemed like he was complaining that there wasn’t any food in the trash can.”

“That makes sense. Because you had a pastry or something in a bag, and you reached into it and pulled a bite out to toss to the crow.” His voice is hoarse, like this little incident really meant something important to him. “If I hadn’t been gone before, I was gone for good then. When you gave that silly crow something to eat.”

“I can’t believe you saw all that. You didn’t know who I was though.”

“No. But Trevor caught me staring at you, and he told me all about you. He pretended not to see that I was blown away by you. He probably felt bad for me, knowing I wouldn’t have a chance with you. But I kept thinking about you. And I kept trying to come up with some way to meet you.”

“Why didn’t you just ask Trevor? He could have arranged a dinner or something with us.”

“I wanted to. But I knew I would blow it.”

“Why?”

“You were on a first date with me, weren’t you?” His voice is very dry. “You know perfectly well that if we’d gone out, I would have made a mess of it and you never would have talked to me again.”

“Oh.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” There’s a smile in his voice, and he rubs his jaw against my hair.

“I guess maybe you are. So you weren’t going to do anything?”

“No. Not really. But then I was talking to Trevor about my packaging problems, and it occurred to me... I might have put in a hint or two... that maybe you’d be a good person to help me.”

“Oh my God!” I sit straight up on the recliner. “Trevor is a little sneak! He never even hinted that you might have had me in mind.”

“He’s a good guy. Like I said, I think he just felt sorry for me. Anyway, I wanted to tell you. I already knew who you were when you first emailed me.”

“You asked who the hell I was?”

“I know I did. I could hardly confess that I’d seen you across the street one day and I was a goner ever since.”

“You’re kind of a sneak too.”

“I know.” He pulls me back down into a slow kiss. “Do you forgive me for that too?”

“I guess so. No one has ever made me feel as special as you do, Owen. I hope you know that.”

“Then everyone else is an idiot. Because you’re the most special thing that’s ever happened in the history of the world.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

But I also tear up a little because I know he believes it.

We end up kissing some more, and then we make love right in the recliner.

And only once do we threaten to topple it.

Recliner sex is not anything I’ve ever done before.

But I figure Owen is my husband for good now, so we can have sex anywhere we want.

***

LATER THAT EVENING, we finally go to bed. In Owen’s room.

He tells me that it’s not his room anymore and that I need to move downstairs with him for good the following day, and I see no reason to object to this arrangement.

It’s exactly what I want.

He doesn’t take a shower before bed, and neither do I. I climb into bed and turn to look at him.

He frowns at me. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go right to sleep or not.”

“I’m probably going to go to sleep pretty quickly.” He gives me a dry half smile. “But that still doesn’t mean you should be all the way on that side of the bed.”

I scoot over and fit myself against his side.

I feel him relax as he wraps an arm around me.

“We should talk about your job,” he murmurs.

“Oh. Oh yeah. Of course.” My heart speeds up as I tilt my head up to look at him. It’s dark in the room, but I can see enough of his face to see his expression is that quiet, serious one.

“I know it’s important to you. I wanted to make sure you still had it, even though everything else felt like it was falling apart. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

I think about this for a minute. “Oh. I thought... I thought it was because you cared more about the company than about me. That’s why you didn’t suggest I quit my job.”

“That wasn’t it at all. I do want you at Masterson’s. You can really help us. But that wasn’t why I said you should keep the position and move upstairs. I was scared—for a lot of reasons—but I wasn’t going to let my own mess take something that good away from you.”

I snuggle closer. “It is good. I really love what I’m doing there.”

“I want you to keep doing it. But I’m not going to pretend it won’t be complicated.”

We both lie in silence for a minute. “Do you think we can make the internship work at least? The way it was before? If I’m careful about only working twenty hours and I do what you tell me to at work. Do you think we can make it work for a year?”

“Yes. I think we could.”

I turn over so I’m almost lying on top of him. I stretch up to press a kiss against his mouth. “Thank you. If you’ll let me keep doing the internship, then after I’m done I can find another job. I’ll have some experience then. Maybe someone else will hire me.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. I hear him breathing heavily.

And I’m hit with a flutter of nerves. “You don’t think anyone will hire me?”

“Of course they’ll hire you!” My words obviously jarred him out of his subdued reverie. “Anyone would be crazy not to hire you. I’m just...” He clears his throat. “I’d like for there to be a way for you to work for Masterson’s. I don’t want to... lose what you can give us. But you need a good job that’s really your own. So of course you’ll want to move on after the internship is done. I think that’s a good plan.”

I’m listening to his words and hearing a slightly reluctant edge to his tone and suddenly understand it. Laughter spills out of me as I kiss him again. “You’re trying to be generous!”

I can hear a frown in his voice, although he returns my kisses. “Of course I’m trying to be generous. I love you and I want you to be as happy and fulfilled as possible. Even if it means I lose you for Masterson’s. Did you think I’d be greedy and try to keep you there even if it wasn’t the best for you?”

“No! I never thought you’d be greedy.” I’m still giggling like a fool. “It’s just that no one has ever wanted me—for work, I mean—so much that it’s a hard thing to give me up. You really do think I’m that good.”

“Of course I do. What do you think this whole conversation is about?”

“And you’re willing to sacrifice something for Masterson’s in order to make sure I’m happy?”

“Of course I am. I don’t understand where you’re going with all this.”

I give him a hard hug. “Where I’m going is even more in love with you than I already was.”

“Oh.” He sounds gruff, almost begrudging. But he fits me at his side again. “Okay then. I’ll take it.”

We go to sleep soon afterward.

I know Owen is happy. I can feel it in his body.

But I can’t imagine he’s any happier than me.

***

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I’m on the edge of awake when I hear my phone buzz with a text.

It’s unusually early to be getting texts, so the sound wakes me.

It’s Sunday morning, and it’s not even eight. Owen is still asleep beside me, his hair sticking out all over and the covers pushed down toward his waist.

I reach for my phone to check the text.

It’s Sam.

She’s linked something on Twitter.

Fully awake now, I click the link and gasp at what I see.

I poke Owen.

He mumbles.

“Owen, wake up.”

“Don’t wanna. Early.”

“It’s not early. It’s almost eight.”

“Sunday.”

He starts to roll over, so I poke him again.

“Ow.” He’s finally opened his eyes, and he’s glaring at me.

“Look at this! Someone videoed your little serenade last night and posted it on Twitter.”

He sits up abruptly, staring down at my phone. “Oh fuck. That’s me.”

I’m trying not to laugh since I don’t know how he’ll react. Someone caught him on their phone, and the slightly wobbly image shows him singing to the closed door of the bathroom. He appears completely unconscious of anyone else around, and it’s really the sweetest thing.

“Oh fuck,” he says again. “It’s gone viral.”

“Yep. I’m afraid so. And they know who you are. You should read some of these comments.”

“I’m definitely not reading the comments.”

“They’re mostly good. About how cute and romantic you are. And a few talk about your ass.”

“What about my ass?”

“That it’s a good one.”

He sniffs and rubs his jaw. “Oh. Okay.”

I lean over to kiss him, forgetting for the moment about morning breath. “It will blow over soon. Everyone will forget about it. These things always do.”

He grumbles wordlessly, and I know that means he’s not really upset about this.

“And what do you want to bet that you’ll be getting calls from all kinds of designers this week who want to work with you after your sudden popularity?”

“No way that will happen.”

“You want to bet?”

He slants me a considering look. Then finally shakes his head. “Better not. You’re a lot smarter than me about this kind of thing, and I’d probably end up losing that bet.”

That comment and his sober expression earn him another kiss.

It’s a long time before we stop.