Page 32 of Suite 7

“She met someone,” Sloane says, at the same time.

A beat of silence.

Then his eyes find mine with a slowness that is intentional.

“Did she,” he says.

“She won’t tell me who. Very mysterious.” Sloane sounds delighted. “But look at her. She’s glowing.”

His eyes don’t leave my face. “When did this happen?”

Still not a question.

“Recently,” I say.

“How recently.”

“Does it matter?”

The corner of his mouth moves. Not quite a smile. Not quite. “What does he look like?”

“Tall,” I say, before I’ve decided to say anything. “Sandy hair. Big, easy smile. Very relaxed. The kind of man who walks into a room and immediately makes everyone in it feel like there’s nowhere they’d rather be.”

A muscle in his jaw moves, and a small, petty part of me counts it as a win. I’m not proud of that.

“Relaxed,” he says.

“Extremely.”

“Creative type?”

“Very.”

“Spontaneous?”

“Refreshingly so.”

He picks up the menu. Studies it with the focused attention of a man who will not be ordering anything from it. “And you find that attractive. The lack of structure.”

“I find it restful.”

“You’d be bored inside a month.”

“You don’t know what I find boring.”

“You find boring things boring,” he says, without looking up from the menu. “You’ve never wanted something uncomplicated. You want things that push back.”

“Maybe I’m changing.”

“People don’t change their fundamentals.” He puts the menu down. “They get tired and call it growth.”

“That’s a bleak worldview.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

“From the man who critiques the structural integrity of restaurant seating.”

“Organization isn’t a worldview, it’s a system.”