A complete stranger asked me to pretend I had fallen asleep on his shoulder in the middle of a crowded flight,

The first time he kissed me, we were standing beside the kitchen sink.

No photographers.

No champagne.

No dramatic confession.

Fiona was asleep upstairs.

I had been telling him that I was looking for an apartment because the case was almost finished and I wanted a place that felt like mine.

He nodded.

“That makes sense.”

I had expected him to argue.

He didn’t.

Then he said, “I’m going to miss having you nearby.”

I looked at him.

“I’ll probably miss you too.”

“Probably?”

“Don’t get arrogant.”

He smiled.

And then he kissed me.

Slowly.

Like he was asking.

I kissed him back.

Six months after the flight, Fiona and I moved into a small house of our own about twenty minutes from Luca’s property.

I could have stayed in his guesthouse.

I could have moved into the main house.

I chose neither.

I wanted keys that were mine.

Bills that came in my name.

A front door nobody could change without me knowing.

The house was not grand.

It had three bedrooms, slightly uneven hardwood floors, an old maple in the backyard, and a kitchen drawer that refused to close unless you lifted it first.