I was handing him paper towels when his phone lit up on the counter.
Paige.
He glanced at the screen and let it ring.
“You can answer,” I said.
“She only calls when she needs something.”
I understood that particular problem better than he knew.
He tightened the connection, crawled out, and wiped his hands.
I noticed grease on his cheek.
Without thinking, I reached up with a dish towel.
“There.”
He stopped moving.
For one awkward second, neither of us said anything.
Then I stepped back.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
But he was looking at me differently.
And I was suddenly very aware that the kitchen was empty except for us.
I invited him to dinner the following Tuesday.
Nothing fancy. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans.
The kind of meal I’d spent years preparing for people who barely looked up from their phones.
Graham arrived with a small grocery-store bouquet.
