Life is just a big drama

“Lisa?” 

Carmy stepped inside, still in his work clothes, his jacket only half-zipped. 

She stared at him. 

“You said you were going to call.” 

“Yeah.” He shut the door behind him. “I know.” 

For a second, neither of them moved. 

Carmy still had one hand wrapped around his keys. His cheeks were pink from the cold outside, his hair pushed into disarray by the wind. He looked like he had left in the middle of something—which, of course, he had. 

Lisa glanced at the clock on the stove. 

“You drove all the way here?” 

“Yeah.” 

“In the middle of prep.” 

“Richie’s got it.” 

“Richie?” 

“And Syd. And Tina.” 

She folded her arms loosely over herself. 

“You left Richie in charge?” 

His mouth twitched, but the almost-smile disappeared before it could fully form. 

“I didn’t leave him alone.” 

There it was again. 

Quiet. 

Careful. 

Carmy dropped his keys into the bowl beside the door. The sound seemed strangely loud in the apartment. 

Then he shrugged out of his jacket. 

He hesitated before hanging it on the hook, like he was no longer sure whether he was supposed to. 

Lisa noticed. 

“You can put it there.” 

His eyes moved to hers. 

He hung it up. 

The gesture should not have hurt. 

It did. 

He had put his jacket on that same hook for the past two weeks without thinking. Now every movement looked measured, as though he was waiting for her to tell him which parts of their life he was still allowed to touch. 

Lisa looked away first. 

“You didn’t have to come.” 

“Yeah, I did.” He paused, searching for her eyes. “You wanted to talk.” 

His voice was not impatient. If anything, the certainty in it made her more nervous. 

“I said I didn’t know what I wanted to say.” 

“Okay.” 

“Could you stop saying okay?” 

Carmy blinked. 

“Sorry.” 

“That’s not—” She pressed her lips together. “You don’t have to apologize for saying okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Despite herself, a small laugh escaped her. 

Carmy’s shoulders lowered by barely an inch. 

It only made the tightness in her chest worse. 

He took a few steps into the kitchen, then stopped on the opposite side of the table. 

Her laptop sat between them, the dark screen reflecting the light from the window. Beside it, her phone was still facedown. 

“You finish?” 

“The article?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Not really... Gotta work on it a bit more. Nick will still probably send it back covered in comments.” 

“He always does that?” 

“Usually.” 

Carmy nodded. 

The conversation dissolved. 

Lisa stared at him. 

He stared at the table. 

They were talking about Nick. 

He had left The Bear in the middle of prep because she had called him and admitted that something was wrong, and now they were standing in her kitchen talking about tracked changes. 

“Carm.” 

His eyes lifted immediately. 

“I think last night came out wrong.” 

He went very still. 

“Okay.” 

She gave him a look. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

Lisa rubbed her palms over the sides of her jeans. 

“When I asked you not to come back…” 

Carmy’s gaze dropped for a moment. 

She hated that. 

“I wasn’t trying to tell you I didn’t want you here.” 

He looked at her again. 

“It felt like that.” 

The honesty of it landed harder than defensiveness would have. 

Lisa swallowed. 

“I mean, I know you didn’t say it like that,” he said, running his hand over his messy hair. 

“But that’s what you heard.” 

He shifted his weight. 

“Kind of.” 

Lisa said, “Why?” 

His eyebrows drew together. 

“Why?” 

“Why did you think that?” 

Carmy looked at her as though the answer were obvious. 

“Because you asked me not to come back.” 

“For one night.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That doesn’t mean I wanted you gone.” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

The words were quiet. Not accusing. 

That somehow made them worse. 

Lisa leaned back against the counter behind her. 

“You thought I wanted you to back off.” 

“Yeah.” 

Carmy rubbed his thumb over his lips. 

“I’ve been here a lot.” 

The statement was so simple that it took her a second to understand what he meant. 

“I’m here in the mornings. I’m—I don’t know. Buying shit. Cooking. Moving stuff around.” 

“You don’t move stuff around.” 

“I moved the salt.” 

“You moved it closer to the stove.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Because you complained about where I kept it for days.” 

“It didn’t make sense over there.” 

“It made sense to me.” 

“Right.” 

She watched him. 

He was frowning now, not because of the salt, but because they had somehow wandered away from the thing they were both trying to say. 

Carmy dragged a hand over his messy hair. 

“I just thought maybe I’d…” 

He stopped. 

“What?” 

“Taken up too much space.” 

Lisa’s chest tightened. 

There was no self-pity in the words. 

Only a quiet conclusion he had reached while walking out of her apartment the night before. 

“No.” 

“Lis—” 

“No.” 

Her answer came so quickly that he stopped. 

“You didn’t.” 

“I texted Noah without talking to you.” 

“And I wish you hadn’t.” 

He nodded once. 

“I know.” 

“But that’s not the same thing, Carm.” 

“It felt connected.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“Then what was it, Lis?” 

The question was not sharp. That was the problem. 

If he had been angry, she could have defended herself. If he had accused her of pushing him away, she could have explained why that was unfair. 

Instead, Carmy simply stood there and waited for an answer she still did not know how to give. 

Lisa looked toward the window. 

“I don’t know how to explain it.” 

“Try.” 

There was fear in his voice now, however hard he was working to keep it out. 

Lisa pushed away from the counter and moved the laptop aside, needing something to do with her hands. 

“Matt said something yesterday. About me spending so long waiting for something bad to happen that I don’t know what to do when it doesn’t.” 

Carmy said nothing. 

“I think he was right.” 

She pulled out a chair and sat down. 

Carmy remained standing until she gave him a tired look. 

“You don’t have to pay for sitting, you know.” 

He took the chair across from her. 

Lisa looked at the small burn healing near one of his knuckles. She remembered cold water running over his hand. Ben calling Dada from the doorway. Carmy kissing her while she scolded him for not paying attention. 

Just a few days before. A whole life contained in something that small. 

“When I came back after dropping Ben off, I kept looking at my phone.” 

His eyes shifted toward it. 

“I kept thinking you were going to text.” 

“I thought you wanted space.” 

“I know.” 

“That’s why I didn’t.” 

“I know, Carmen.” 

Frustration broke through at last. 

“I know you listened. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Then why are you—” 

“Because we’ve been here before.” 

The words came out so suddenly that the room seemed to change around them. 

Carmy stopped. 

Lisa’s throat tightened. 

Neither of them had to ask what she meant. 

He knew. 

She could see it in his face. 

“New York,” he said. 

Lisa nodded. 

The word sat between them. 

Heavy. 

Old. 

Still alive enough to hurt. 

“Your things were everywhere,” she said. “Your clothes. Your notebooks. Those ridiculous coffee beans you always insisted on buying.” 

Carmy looked down. 

“Your toothbrush beside mine.” 

“Lisa—” 

“No. Just let me say it.” 

He closed his mouth. 

“I noticed every single thing. Every shirt you left. Every time you bought something for the apartment. Every night you stayed.” 

Her voice caught. 

“I thought it meant you were staying.” 

Carmy’s jaw tightened. 

“I wanted to, Lis. I—yeah. I did.” 

“I know.” She shook her head gently. “I know you were in a different place. We both were. I’m not trying to punish you for that.” 

He swallowed. 

“And I know this isn’t the same. I know you aren’t the same.” 

Lisa glanced around the kitchen. 

“But it’s been happening again. Since we decided to try this.” 

Carmy remained silent. 

“You come home with Ben. You buy groceries. You know what he’ll eat when he’s tired. You know when I’m almost out of yogurt.” 

A tear slipped free before she could stop it. 

She wiped it away impatiently. 

“You’re in everything now. His daycare. His dinner. My work. What time we go to bed.” 

Her voice dropped. 

“I didn’t realize how much of my life had started including you.” 

Carmy’s hands tightened together. 

“And then suddenly I did.” 

The silence stretched. 

“For one second, it felt like New York.” 

His expression tightened. 

“Lis… yeah. I—okay.” 

“That’s the part I couldn’t understand.” She wiped beneath her eye again. “Because you show up.” 

The words trembled. 

“Every day. You tell me when you’re going to be late. You come back after service even when you’re exhausted and have to leave again a few hours later.” 

She drew in a shaky breath. 

“Back then, I waited for you.” 

Carmy’s eyes closed briefly. 

“Yeah.” 

“Now you show up.” 

He opened them again. 

“You’ve made room for us in your life. I know that. That’s why none of it made sense.” 

“But it still scared you.” 

“Yes.” 

The answer left her before pride could interfere. 

“You thought I was gonna leave.” 

Lisa opened her mouth. 

Closed it. 

“Maybe.” 

Carmy waited. 

She hated how patient he had become, because it left her with nowhere to hide. 

“I know I’d be okay,” she said. 

His forehead creased. 

“What—what do you mean?” 

“If you left.” 

He went pale. 

“I’m not— I’m not leaving.” 

“Let me finish.” 

Carmy stopped, jaw tightening. 

“I know I’d survive it. I did before. I raised Ben. I worked. I made a life. I know I could keep doing all of that.” 

Her hands trembled in her lap. 

“But I don’t want to.” 

The room seemed to narrow around them. 

Lisa’s voice broke. 

“I don’t want to have to learn how to live without you again.” 

Something inside his expression gave way. 

Carmy pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and moved around the table. 

Lisa’s breath caught. 

For one second, she thought he was leaving. 

Instead, he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. Close, but not touching. 

“Hey—look at me.” 

His voice was rough. 

Lisa lifted her chin. 

His eyes were wet, the blue of them brighter for it, his brows drawn tight as though he was holding himself in place. 

She had seen him unravel before. 

She had seen him disappear inside himself. 

This was different. 

He was right there—terrified and completely present. 

“I’m staying. I—yeah. Not going anywhere.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“Carmen, people don’t get to promise that nothing will ever—” 

“I’m not promising nothing’s gonna happen, okay?” 

Urgency sharpened his voice. 

“I’m not saying it’s always gonna be good. I’m not saying I’m never gonna fuck up— I mean, I will. I do.” 

A soft, shaky laugh escaped her. 

Carmy’s mouth twitched. 

“I mean, I’ve got a reputation for it, right?” 

“Yeah,” she whispered. “You do.” 

He leaned slightly toward her, one hand resting on his thigh. 

“But I know what I’m choosing. I— I know that.” 

Lisa held his gaze. 

“This isn’t just happening to me. I didn’t end up here by accident.” 

Her breath caught. 

“I don’t stay over because it’s easy. I don’t pick Ben up because there’s nobody else.” 

He stopped, exhaled through his nose, then forced himself to continue. 

“I want him to see me at the door.” 

Lisa’s eyes filled again. 

“I want to know what he’ll eat when he’s sick. Which blanket he needs when he sleeps. Where you keep the Tylenol.” 

His voice roughened. 

“I come back after service because I want to wake up with you. Even if it’s, like, four hours later, I— I still come back.” 

Her lower lip trembled. 

“I asked Noah and Matt to dinner because they’re your family. And I want to know them. I want to be part of that.” 

He looked directly at her. 

“I chose this.” 

A beat. 

“I keep choosing it. Every day.” 

Lisa could barely breathe. 

“I want to be Ben’s dad. I want all of it. All of it.” 

His jaw tightened. 

“But I’m not here only because he’s mine. That’s not it.” 

Something in her chest cracked open. 

“I’m here because of you. I’m here for you.” 

“Carm…” 

“I want this life, Lisa.” 

His hand moved between them, not quite touching her. 

“You can ask me for a night, Lis. You can tell me you need space. That’s— that’s okay.” 

She looked at him. 

“I’m still coming back. I am.” 

The words landed quietly. 

Completely. 

“I don’t want you waiting for me to leave.” 

Lisa looked down at his hand. 

Then she reached for it. 

Her fingers slid over his, uncertain at first, before she laced them together. 

Carmy stilled. 

She held their joined hands between them like something fragile. 

Then she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, shifting fully into him until she was straddling his lap, one leg on each side of his. 

Carmy froze for half a second. 

His arms came around her immediately after, firm and warm, pulling her against him. 

Lisa pressed her face into his neck, settling closer against him. 

He held her like he meant it. 

Not tightly enough to trap her. 

Only enough to let her feel that he was there. 

When she lifted her head, their foreheads rested together. 

“I’m staying, alright?” he said again. 

His voice was low now. 

Certain. 

Then, softer— 

“Because I love you, Lis.” 

Lisa didn’t answer immediately. 

Her hand rose to his cheek. 

Warm. 

Real. 

Carmy went still beneath her touch. 

Her thumb brushed lightly over his skin, and she closed her eyes for a second. 

It hurt. 

Not in the way she had feared. 

In the way something long denied finally being named could hurt. 

“I should’ve—” he stopped, exhaled through his nose, tried again. “I should’ve said it before.” 

Her eyes opened. 

“When?” 

Carmy didn’t hesitate, but his jaw tightened like he was bracing anyway. 

“New York.” 

Something in her expression broke open. 

“I loved you then,” he said, voice catching slightly before he forced it steady. “I just— I didn’t say it. I didn’t… know how to say it without—” He cut himself off, shaking his head once. “I didn’t say it.” 

Lisa’s fingers stilled against his face. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough and uneven, words coming out in pieces. “For leaving. For not— for not saying any of it. For making you—” He swallowed. “For making you figure it out without me.” 

She studied him closely. 

The man who had once left her with nothing. 

The man holding her now, forcing himself to say everything he hadn’t before. 

“I love you too,” she said. 

The words came softly. 

Steadily. 

Carmy’s breath caught, like he hadn’t quite let himself expect it. 

She saw them reach him somewhere he had not prepared to defend. 

Lisa slid her hand into the hair at the back of his neck and pulled him toward her. 

The kiss began softly. Only for a second. 

For two weeks, they had stopped themselves at this exact edge. Kisses that deepened and then softened. Hands that wandered only far enough to remind them what they were waiting for. 

They had called it taking things slowly. 

And it had been that. 

But it had also been fear. 

There was nothing left between them to hide behind. 

Carmy’s hand tightened at her waist, and something inside both of them finally gave way. 

Lisa kissed him harder. 

He answered with a quiet, broken sound against her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her as he pulled her closer across his lap. There was no careful space left between them now. No breath in which either of them could remember why they had spent so many nights stopping. 

His mouth moved over hers with a hunger that made her fingers tighten in his hair. 

“Lis,” he breathed. 

She felt the word more than heard it. 

Carmy drew back barely far enough to look at her, his breathing uneven, his forehead pressed against hers. 

Lisa could still see the question in his eyes. 

Not uncertainty. 

Care. 

She held his gaze. 

“Don’t stop this time.” 

Something changed in his face. 

“I won’t.” 

He kissed her again. 

The restraint disappeared. 

His hand slid beneath the back of her shirt, warm against her skin, and Lisa arched closer before he had even fully touched her. Carmy inhaled sharply, his fingers spreading over her back as though he needed to feel all of her at once. 

She kissed his cheek, his jaw, the place beneath his ear that made his breathing catch. 

For once, he did not pull away when the want became too much. 

He let her feel it. 

The heat of him beneath her. The unsteady movement of his chest. The way his hands trembled slightly despite how firmly he held her. 

Lisa shifted from his lap only long enough to stand. 

Carmy’s hand caught hers immediately. 

She took one step toward the hallway. 

He followed. 

They made it only a few feet before he pulled her back and kissed her again, one hand settling at her waist while the other cupped the back of her neck. 

Lisa smiled against his mouth. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

His lips found hers again before she could say anything else. 

The short walk to the bedroom became a series of interrupted steps, their hands never quite leaving each other. At the edge of the bed, Lisa turned toward him. 

Carmy stopped. 

The pale afternoon light fell through the curtains, catching in her hair and across the flushed skin of her face. 

He looked at her as though he had never seen her before. 

Not because he had forgotten. 

Because she was not exactly the woman he remembered. 

Neither of them was. 

Lisa reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it upward. Carmy helped her, dropping it somewhere beside the bed without looking away from her. 

Her hands settled against his chest. 

She remembered the shape of him, but there were years beneath her fingertips now. New scars. Harder lines. Evidence of a life she had not been there to witness. 

Carmy reached for her shirt. 

He paused with his fingers beneath the fabric. 

Not asking. 

Waiting. 

Lisa lifted her arms. 

He drew it over her head slowly. 

The shirt fell to the floor. 

For a moment, Carmy only looked at her. 

His gaze moved across her face, her shoulders, the body that had changed since he had last known it this way. 

Lisa felt unexpectedly exposed. 

Not ashamed. 

Only seen. 

Carmy’s eyes lowered to the faint, pale lines across her hips and lower stomach. 

His expression shifted. 

There was no surprise in it. No pity. 

His thumb moved carefully over one of the lines. 

“You’re beautiful, Lis.” 

Her throat tightened. 

“Carm—” 

“I mean it.” 

There was no urgency in the words. 

No attempt to convince her of something he did not believe. 

He simply looked at her. 

All of her. 

Like there was nothing he wanted her to hide. 

He lowered himself and pressed his mouth to the place his fingers had touched. 

Lisa’s breath caught. 

Carmy kissed another faint line. 

Then again, closer to her hip, his hand warm against her side. 

Her fingers slipped into his hair. 

Carmy looked up at her. 

“Thank you.” 

Lisa went still. 

“For what?” 

His jaw tightened slightly. 

For a moment, she thought he might try to explain. 

He didn’t. 

“Everything.” 

The word came out rough. 

Barely more than a whisper. 

Lisa understood anyway. 

She drew him back to his feet and kissed him before either of them could become overwhelmed by everything contained inside it. 

The tenderness remained, but it no longer softened the desire. It deepened it. 

They undressed each other without hurry. 

Not because they were uncertain. 

Because they had waited too long to rush through any part of it. 

Every piece of clothing revealed something familiar and something new. Carmy’s hands moved over her with quiet attention, relearning the shape of her. Lisa did the same, tracing scars she did not recognize and feeling his muscles tighten beneath her palms. 

They were not trying to recreate New York. 

They were meeting each other as they were now. 

Carmy reached for the button of his jeans, then stopped. 

“Shit.” 

Lisa looked up from where she sat at the edge of the mattress. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. I just—” 

He reached into the back pocket and pulled out his wallet. 

Understanding dawned when he opened it and pulled out the condom tucked inside. 

Lisa’s eyebrows lifted. 

“You came prepared.” 

Carmy’s face flushed immediately. 

“I didn’t come here expecting this.” 

“Of course not.” 

The smile in her voice made his eyes narrow. 

“I’ve just had it.” 

“In your wallet?” 

“Yeah.” 

“For emergencies?” 

“Lis.” 

She laughed softly and reached for his wrist, drawing him closer until he stood between her knees. 

“So, what?” Her fingers moved idly against his skin. “Not ready for another one yet?” 

She meant it as a joke. 

Carmy’s expression changed. 

“Not yet.” 

Lisa’s smile softened. 

“Yet?” 

He glanced down at the condom in his hand, suddenly looking more nervous than he had while undressing her. 

“I mean—not now.” 

“I understood that part.” 

His eyes returned to hers. 

“But not never.” 

Something warm tightened beneath her ribs. 

“You’ve thought about it?” 

“A little.” 

“Carmen.” 

He exhaled, almost frustrated at being caught. 

“I don’t know. Maybe someday.” 

His gaze held hers. 

“If you wanted.” 

“If I wanted to.” 

“Yeah.” His answer came immediately. “Only if you wanted to.” 

Lisa studied him. 

The man who had discovered he was a father only months ago was already allowing himself to imagine doing it differently. 

Being there from the beginning. 

The thought was almost too tender to hold. 

She stood, slid her hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down. 

“Ask me again in a year.” 

Carmy’s mouth brushed hers. 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe.” 

His quiet laugh disappeared into their kiss. 

Carmy set his wallet aside and stepped out of his jeans. His usually precise fingers were less steady as he tore open the foil, and Lisa couldn’t help the small smile that touched her mouth. 

He glanced at her. 

“What?” 

“Just watching.” 

His eyes narrowed, but she caught him by the back of the neck before he could ask again. 

Lisa moved backward onto the mattress, taking him with her. 

Carmy followed, settling above her, his hair falling over his forehead and his lips swollen from kissing her. 

For a moment, he only looked at her. 

Then his forehead rested against hers. 

“Tell me,” he whispered. 

It was not a question about whether she wanted this. 

They both knew that now. 

Lisa touched his mouth with her fingertips. 

“What?” 

“What you want.” 

Her heart beat hard against her ribs. 

“You.” 

Carmy closed his eyes briefly. 

When he opened them, the last trace of restraint was gone. 

He kissed her as he settled between her thighs, one hand sliding down her body with a care that made every touch feel deliberate. Lisa drew him closer, her leg curling around him, her mouth finding his shoulder when his fingers made her breath catch. 

Carmy listened to every sound she made. 

Watched every shift in her face. 

Not nervously. 

Hungrily. 

As though learning what she wanted was part of wanting her. 

When he finally moved inside her, both of them went still. 

Carmy’s forehead dropped to hers. 

His breath shook. 

Lisa held his face between her hands. 

For one suspended moment, neither of them moved. 

They had been here before, years ago. 

But it had never felt like this. 

There had always been something unspoken between them then. Something Carmy could not name and Lisa had been too afraid to ask for. 

Now there was nothing left unsaid. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

Lisa’s eyes burned. 

“I love you too.” 

She kissed him. 

Then moved beneath him. 

Carmy’s breath broke against her mouth. 

They found each other slowly. 

Not perfectly. 

They had both changed. Their bodies had changed. The rhythm they remembered no longer belonged to them. 

So they made another one. 

Carmy adjusted when she pulled him closer. Slowed when her hand tightened against his shoulder. Lisa learned the new sounds he made, the places where tension gathered beneath his skin, the way his control slipped whenever she said his name. 

There was no performance in it. 

No attempt to make up for the years between them. 

Only the quiet, overwhelming discovery that they could still belong to each other without becoming the people they had once been. 

The pleasure built slowly, tangled with something deeper until Lisa could no longer separate one from the other. 

Carmy’s hand found hers against the mattress. 

Their fingers locked together. 

He looked at her the entire time. 

In awe. 

In love. 

As though he still could not believe she had chosen him back. 

When the feeling finally broke through her, Lisa pulled him close, his name catching against his shoulder. 

Carmy held her through it. 

His mouth pressed to her temple, her cheek, anywhere he could reach. 

He followed with her arms still around him, his face buried against her neck, her name leaving him like something sacred. 

Afterward, he did not immediately move away. 

His weight settled carefully against her, his face still hidden beside hers, their joined hands resting against the pillow. 

Lisa felt his heartbeat slowly begin to ease. 

Neither of them spoke. 

They did not need to fill the silence. 

This silence was different. 

Carmy lifted his head eventually. 

His eyes found hers. 

Lisa touched the damp curl resting against his forehead. 

He turned his face and kissed her palm. 

Nothing was holding them back anymore. 

Not New York. 

Not the years between them. 

Not the fear that loving each other would somehow make the loss inevitable. 

They were here. 

Together. 

And this time, they had both said it. 

The apartment settled into its usual rhythm. Dinner. A bath. 

Two stories because Ben insisted dinosaurs couldn't possibly go to sleep after only one. 

By the time Lisa quietly pulled his bedroom door shut, the apartment had fallen still. 

She stood there for a second, one hand resting on the doorknob. 

Usually, around now Carmy would be getting his backpack and heading to the front door. He’d come to her and— 

She caught herself before the thought finished. 

No. 

Not tonight. 

She walked into the kitchen instead. 

The vegetables she'd chopped earlier were still in the fridge. She reheated leftovers she barely tasted, carried the plate to the table, then opened her laptop. 

The cursor blinked. 

She wrote one sentence. Deleted it. Tried again. Nothing. 

With a frustrated sigh, Lisa leaned back in her chair. 

Her phone sat beside the computer. 

Dark. 

For the last two weeks, sometime between eight and midnight, it had almost always lit up. 

Running late. 

Richie forgot to order lemons. 

Marcus made too much bread again. 

Nothing important. Just small pieces of his day finding their way into hers. 

Tonight, there was nothing. 

She reached for the phone. Stopped. 

He's working. Of course he was working. 

She set it back down. 

Outside, a siren moved somewhere through the city. The refrigerator hummed. Pipes shifted behind the wall. 

The apartment wasn't silent. 

Just still. 

Eventually, she gave up on the article. She loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, and turned off the lights one by one. 

When she stepped into the bedroom, her eyes went immediately to his side of the bed. 

Empty. 

Lisa frowned at herself. 

It had been one night. One. 

She changed into an old T-shirt, climbed beneath the blankets, and reached for the lamp. 

That was when she noticed his little paperback lay open face-down on the nightstand, a grocery receipt tucked between the pages where he had stopped. 

A small smile pulled at her mouth. 

She placed it back exactly where it had been. 

The room smelled faintly of his soap. Or maybe the pillow did. 

She switched off the lamp and rolled onto her side. 

For a while, she stared into the dark. 

Then New York slipped quietly into the room. 

A gray sweatshirt over the back of a chair. A knife roll against the wall. Coffee beans in her cupboard. His toothbrush beside hers. 

Little pieces of him appearing until she'd started believing they meant something. 

Until she'd thought— 

He's staying. 

Lisa squeezed her eyes shut. 

It wasn't the same. 

She knew that. It couldn't be. 

Still, the old fear had found something familiar enough to hold on to. 

She turned onto her back. 

Why had asking him not to come home felt so necessary? 

And why did getting exactly what she'd asked for feel so wrong? 

She didn't have an answer. 

Long after midnight, Lisa rolled onto the side of the bed he'd slept on every night for the last two weeks and buried her face in his pillow. 

Just for a second. 

It still smelled like him. 

"Come on," she whispered, embarrassed even though no one could hear her. 

Sleep finally came. 

Not because she'd figured anything out. 

Because she'd run out of strength to keep trying. 

----- 

The sound from the monitor woke her sometime after seven. 

A soft cough. 

Then the rustle of blankets and Ben murmuring sleepily to himself. 

Lisa opened her eyes. 

Her hand was resting on the empty half of the mattress. 

For one disoriented second, she waited for the sound of the shower. 

Nothing came. 

Right. 

She pushed herself upright and rubbed both hands over her face. 

It had been one night. That was all. 

Coffee first. 

By the time Ben wandered sleepily into the kitchen, clutching the stuffed elephant he'd refused to sleep without since Christmas, Lisa already had breakfast spread across the counter. 

"Morning, bug." 

Ben rubbed at one eye before lifting both arms expectantly. 

She smiled despite herself and picked him up. 

"There you are." 

He rested his head against her shoulder for exactly three seconds before twisting toward the counter, suddenly very interested in the strawberries she'd just cut. 

"So that's the priority, huh?" 

She set him into his highchair. 

Breakfast unfolded the way mornings usually did. 

Strawberries. 

Toast. 

A sippy cup that somehow ended up upside down despite every law of physics. 

She cleaned sticky fingers, wiped yogurt off tiny cheeks, found one missing sock under the coffee table. 

Normal. 

Completely normal. 

Only... 

Halfway through packing Ben's daycare bag, she caught herself glancing toward the hallway. 

Almost expecting to hear footsteps. 

Or the bathroom door opening. 

Or the familiar scrape of a chef's knife against the cutting board because Carmy had somehow decided that making them both breakfast before leaving was faster than letting her do it. 

Silence. 

She zipped the bag closed. 

"It's just us today." 

Ben looked up at her from where he was attempting to put one shoe on the wrong foot. 

"Dada?" 

The word came so casually it barely sounded like a question. 

Lisa paused. 

"He had to work earlier today." 

Ben seemed perfectly satisfied with the explanation. 

He simply nodded once and returned his full concentration to the impossible task of convincing his sneaker to fit over his heel. 

---- 

The ride to Stephen's took a little longer than usual. 

Ben spent most of it pressed against the window, pointing out every bus, truck, and flash of graffiti they passed with the kind of wholehearted enthusiasm only a toddler could manage. 

By the time they climbed the station steps, he'd forgotten all about asking for Carmy. 

Stephen opened the door before Lisa had the chance to knock. 

"Hey, Mama." 

Ben broke into an immediate grin. 

"Tephen!" 

Stephen laughed and crouched down in front of him. 

"Still working on that S, huh?" 

Ben held up both arms. 

Stephen looked past him at Lisa, one eyebrow lifting. 

"Didn't think I'd see you this morning." 

Lisa adjusted the strap of Ben's daycare bag on her shoulder. 

"No?" 

"Thought baby daddy had mornings now." 

He said it lightly, already reaching for Ben, like it was nothing more than an observation. 

Lisa blinked. 

"Not all of them." 

Stephen took the bag from her. 

"Could've fooled me." 

Something about the words caught. 

Not because they were wrong. 

Because she'd never realized there was enough of a pattern for anyone else to notice. 

"I wanted to bring him today," she said. 

Stephen only nodded, attention already shifting back to Ben. 

"Well, lucky me." 

He held out his arms. 

"You coming in, buddy? We've got finger paint." 

Ben launched himself forward without so much as a glance back. 

Traitor. 

Lisa laughed under her breath. 

"I'll see you this afternoon." 

Stephen gave her an easy smile. 

"See you then, Mama." 

The door closed behind them. 

Lisa stood on the porch for another second. 

Baby daddy had mornings now. 

Apparently, from the outside, Carmy's place in their life already looked settled. 

Ordinary. 

She wasn't sure why that made something tighten beneath her ribs. 

---- 

The apartment was quiet when Lisa came back. 

She dropped her keys into the bowl beside the door, slipped off her coat, and carried her laptop to the kitchen table. 

Working from home had seemed like the better idea. 

No interruptions. No conversations happening over her shoulder. No Nick appearing beside her desk every twenty minutes to ask whether she had decided between two nearly identical photographs. 

Just silence. 

Space to think. 

For the first fifteen minutes, it even worked. 

She adjusted the opening paragraph, moved one of the quotes higher, and replaced a photograph that had been bothering her since the night before. 

Then the Teams notification sounded from her laptop. 

Nick. 

Lisa glanced at the time before accepting the call. 

His face appeared on the screen a second later, framed by the glass wall of his office. He was looking somewhere below the camera, probably at the article. 

“Morning.” 

“Morning.” 

“You’re not coming in?” 

Lisa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“No. I thought I’d get more done here.” 

Nick lifted his eyes toward the screen. 

“Did you?” 

“For about fifteen minutes.” 

One corner of his mouth moved. 

“I opened the draft.” 

“I figured.” 

“There wasn’t much there from last Friday.” 

Lisa looked down at the keyboard. 

“I tried.” 

“I can see that.” 

The words were direct, but not unkind. 

“I’m working on it now,” she said. “I still need to sort through the last group of pictures, and the middle section isn’t really—” 

“The middle section is fine.” 

She frowned. 

“It’s not. It drags.” 

“It needs trimming. That’s not the same thing.” 

Lisa leaned back slightly. 

Nick clicked something on his end. 

“The direction is right. The photographs are good. Pick one, stop moving them around, and finish the piece.” 

“I’m not moving them around.” 

“You’ve changed the lead image four times since eight-thirty.” 

She stared at him. 

“You can see that?” 

“I can see everything.” 

“That’s unsettling.” 

“It’s meant to be.” 

Despite herself, Lisa smiled. 

Nick studied her for a moment. 

“You all right?” 

The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. 

“Yeah.” 

He waited. 

Lisa glanced toward the edge of the screen, where her phone lay beside the laptop. 

Dark. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just needed some space to think.” 

Nick’s expression changed only slightly. 

“Is it helping?” 

She looked around the quiet kitchen. 

“Still deciding.” 

Another pause. 

Then he nodded once. 

“Send it by the end of the day.” 

“I will.” 

“Or maximum tomorrow morning.” 

“I won’t.” 

“You probably will.” 

The call ended before she could answer. 

Lisa sat there for a moment, staring at her own faint reflection in the darkened window where Nick’s face had been. 

Then she pulled the article back onto the screen. 

She worked for another twenty minutes. 

Three paragraphs. 

Two captions. 

One photograph finally placed where it belonged. 

It should have felt like progress. 

Instead, every few minutes, her attention slipped toward the phone beside her. 

She turned it facedown. 

Kept writing. 

Changed one sentence. 

Changed it back. 

Eventually, she got up to make coffee. 

The refrigerator hummed when she opened it. 

For a moment, she only stood there. 

The shelves were fuller than they had any right to be. 

Her yogurt sat in the door. Not the brand she usually settled for when the grocery store was out, but the exact one she liked. Two cartons, because Carmy had apparently noticed she always ran out halfway through the week. 

A container of sliced strawberries sat on the middle shelf, already washed and cut small enough for Ben. 

Beside it, a jar of tomato sauce had a strip of masking tape across the lid. 

TUESDAY. 

His handwriting. 

There was stock in the back, portioned into containers. Vegetables wrapped properly instead of abandoned in the plastic bags Lisa usually left them in until they started to soften. 

He had noticed what they ate. 

What Ben would finish. 

What Lisa forgot to buy. 

What spoiled before she remembered it was there. 

He had filled the refrigerator not like a guest trying to be helpful, but like someone who expected to open it again.  

Lisa took out the milk and closed the door. 

Her phone buzzed on the table. 

She turned so quickly that the carton nearly slipped from her hand. 

For one breath, she was certain it was him. 

It wasn’t. 

A reminder filled the screen. 

DENTIST — TOMORROW, 10:30 A.M. 

Lisa stared at it. 

Then slowly set the milk on the counter. 

She had been waiting. 

All morning, she had been waiting. 

Every vibration. 

Every notification. 

Every time the screen lit up. 

She had told herself she was checking the time or expecting something from Nick, but Nick had just spoken to her. The article was open. Ben was at Stephen’s. 

There was no one else she was expecting. 

Only Carmy. 

Her thumb moved across the screen, dismissing the reminder. 

His name sat near the top of her recent calls. 

Maybe he was busy. 

He was probably already at The Bear. 

Maybe he had decided to give her what she had asked for. 

Space. 

The word felt different now than it had the night before. 

He had listened. 

Of course he had. 

She had asked him not to come home, and he had believed her. 

Lisa looked back toward the refrigerator. 

At the yogurt. 

The strawberries. 

The careful strip of tape across the sauce. 

Small decisions made before she had ever thought to ask for them. 

She returned to the table and sat down. 

Whatever she had meant in the kitchen, she was beginning to understand that it was not what he had heard. 

And she did not want to let him keep believing it. 

Before she could think herself out of it, Lisa pressed his name. 

The phone rang once. 

Twice. 

Then— 

“Hey.” 

His voice came quickly, sharper than she expected. 

“Hey.” 

“Everything okay?” 

The question was immediate. 

Lisa straightened. 

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

“Ben?” 

“He’s fine. He’s at Stephen’s.” 

A breath left him on the other end. 

“Okay.” 

Noise moved behind him. Metal clattering. Someone calling something she couldn’t make out. 

Lisa looked down at the table. 

“I just…” 

She stopped. 

Carmy waited. 

“I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Another pause. 

“Me?” 

“After last night.” 

Someone spoke close to him. 

Carmy answered, his voice muffled for a second. 

“Yeah, put it in the walk-in. No, not there—the other shelf.” 

Lisa closed her eyes. 

“I’m sorry. You’re busy.” 

“Yeah, I’m—” More noise. “Hold on.” 

She heard movement then. A door opening. Voices fading behind him. 

When he spoke again, it was quieter. 

“Okay. What were you saying?” 

Lisa ran her thumb along the edge of the phone. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You called.” 

“I know.” 

“Because you wanted to talk.” 

“I did. I do.” 

She looked toward the refrigerator. 

“I just don’t really know what I’m trying to say yet.” 

Carmy was quiet. 

Then someone called his name again, distant but insistent. 

“Fuck me.” 

“It’s okay,” Lisa said. “Go. Really.” 

“No, Lis, wait.” 

“I shouldn’t have called you in the middle of prep.” 

“That’s not—” He broke off. “You home?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You staying there?” 

Lisa frowned slightly. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” There was another crash somewhere behind him. “I gotta deal with something.” 

“Carmen—” 

“I’ll call you back. Half an hour, alright?” 

She glanced at the time. 

“Okay.” 

The line went dead. 

Lisa lowered the phone slowly. 

For a moment, she sat without moving. 

That had gone well. 

She had interrupted him during prep, frightened him into thinking something had happened to Ben, and then admitted she wanted to talk without having any idea what she wanted to say. 

Perfect. 

She placed the phone beside the laptop and pulled the article back onto the screen. 

The paragraph she had been working on was still there. 

So was the cursor. 

She read the first sentence. 

Then the second. 

By the end of the third, she had retained none of it. 

After what felt like an eternity, she pushed the laptop away. 

Her eyes moved toward the clock on the wall. 

Twenty minutes passed. 

She picked up her coffee. It had gone cold. 

“Great.” 

She carried it to the sink, rinsed the mug, and stood there for a moment with both hands resting against the counter. 

Maybe she should have waited. 

Maybe she should have known what she wanted before calling him. 

Maybe— 

The key turned in the lock. 

Lisa froze. 

The sound was so familiar that her body recognized it before her mind did. 

Somewhere low in her chest, everything loosened. 

The door opened. 

“Lisa?”  Part B here

She rolled her eyes.  

"Because apparently they're planning something." 

"No, seriously. Back up."  

"...Matt."  

"Lisa."  

She sighed.  

"We went on a date."  

Silence.  

"You what?"  

"Two weeks ago."  

Another silence.  

"And you just... forgot to mention that?" 

"I didn't forget," Lisa said, pretending she is offended. "I've been busy."  

"I know, darling, you have a toddler, a full-time job," Matt makes a pause, ready to tease Lisa. "And apparently a boyfriend now."  

She closed her eyes. "...Don't call him that."  

"What am I supposed to call the guy who took you on a date, has been sleeping at your apartment for two weeks and is now inviting your family to his restaurant?" 

 She froze. "...Who told you he's been sleeping here?" 

"No one," Matt chuckled. "I know you so well. For 15 years already."  

She let out a defeated laugh. "You're impossible."  

"So... it's true."  

"I guess..." She hesitated.  

Another beat.  

"Like...Every night?"  

"Not every night."  

"But..."  

"...Most."  

"Huh."  

"What?"  

"I'm just..."  

She could practically hear him smiling.  

"I wasn't expecting this."  

"Neither was I." 

That, at least, was true. Nothing about those last two weeks had gone the way she'd imagined. 

It had started that Sunday afternoon. Carmy had followed her and Ben home, cooked dinner before she had the chance to argue, and then disappeared into the bathroom with Ben. She'd heard splashing. Ben laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Carmy's exhausted, "Buddy... c'mon, man..."  

When they'd finally emerged, Ben smelled like baby shampoo. Carmy was soaked. 

 "You let him win?" she'd asked.  

"He cheats."  

"He is not even two."  

"I know. He still cheats."  

After she'd tucked Ben in, she walked out to find him wiping down her kitchen counters, wearing a faded gray T-shirt he wasn't wearing earlier.  

"Where'd that come from?" 

"My car."  

"You keep spare clothes in your car?"  

"Yeah."  

"Why?"  

He'd looked at her like the answer was obvious. "...Kitchen." 

That shirt never made it back to his trunk. Neither did the hoodie. Or the sweatpants. His toothbrush quietly appeared beside hers.  

Even the spare key she'd kept in the junk drawer had somehow found its way onto his keychain. There hadn't been a conversation about it. On Tuesday morning, before taking Ben to the daycare, he'd been halfway out the door when he'd looked back over his shoulder. 

"Can I borrow the spare key? So we can come in later?" 

She hadn't even looked up from the coffee she was making. 

"Sure. It's in the junk drawer." 

He'd thanked her, slipped it onto his keyring...and somehow never gave it back. 

It had simply become his. It had been three days. 

At some point, without either of them acknowledging it, pieces of Carmen Berzatto simply stopped leaving her apartment. 

She found one of his white chef T-shirts folded neatly between her own clothes after doing laundry one evening.  

She'd stood there staring at it longer than she cared to admit.  

It reminded her too much of New York. Back then, his things had slowly found their way into her apartment too. A sweatshirt over a chair. A knife roll leaning against the wall. Coffee beans he'd insisted tasted better.  

Back then, she'd believed that meant he was staying. 

She'd been wrong. 

The memory still knew how to bite. 

But it never lasted long. It rarely had the chance. 

Two weeks. 

That was all it had been. 

Fourteen days since he'd followed her and Ben home after lunch at Natalie's. 

Fourteen days shouldn't have been enough for someone to feel stitched into the fabric of her everyday life. 

And yet Carmy would walk into the room carrying Ben upside down over one shoulder...  and thinking became impossible. 

Even on service days, he somehow found forty-five minutes to pick Ben up from daycare before heading back to The Bear. 

Forty-five minutes. 

Just enough time to build train tracks across the living room floor or make grilled cheese because someone had suddenly become starving. 

It wasn't much. 

Somehow, he made it enough. 

By the time Lisa got home, Ben would already be in pajamas.  

"Mama! Dinos," he'd announce proudly over a plate of nuggets.  

"Oh, Daddy made you chicken nuggets?"  

"No! Dinosaurs!"  

Carmy never argued. He'd just shrug. "They're dinosaurs."  

Then he'd check the time. "I gotta go."  

A kiss pressed automatically to Ben's curls. Another stolen from the corner of Lisa's mouth. Natural. Almost absentminded. 

For something that had only been happening for two weeks, the evenings settled into their lives with alarming ease. 

After Ben went to bed, neither of them seemed in any hurry to call it a night anymore. 

On the few evenings Carmen didn’t have to work, they stayed in the kitchen long after the dishes were done, leaning against opposite counters while talking about absolutely nothing. 

After that, they’d put on a movie neither of them actually watched. 

Somewhere around the twenty-minute mark, one of them would say something, the television would quietly fade into the background, and before she knew it they were still talking halfway through the credits. 

Without really thinking about it, Carmy always ended up beside her. 

Sometimes he'd take her legs and absentmindedly rest them across his lap while they talked, gently rubbing slow circles over her thighs and ankles without ever looking down. 

Sometimes his hand found hers. 

Sometimes he’d just climb onto the couch and rest his head in her lap, letting her fingers drift through his hair. 

It was never deliberate. 

It just... happened. 

Even on the nights he had a shift, he tried to make it back until after one in the morning, exhausted and smelling faintly of smoke, butter and dish soap, she almost always woke when he slipped into bed. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." 

A quiet kiss. 

A few sleepy seconds. 

Then— 

"How was service?" 

Sometimes he'd just sigh. 

"Long." 

Other nights, something unexpected happened. 

He'd tell her a story. 

Richie arguing with the fish delivery. 

Marcus making enough focaccia to feed half of Chicago. 

Sugar calling him because she'd forgotten where she'd left her own phone while talking on it. 

Small things. 

Completely ordinary. 

Somehow thirty minutes disappeared before either of them noticed. 

She'd spent six months in New York believing she'd known him. 

She'd known how he took his coffee. 

Which records he always reached for first. 

How he kissed. 

How he worked. 

She'd mistaken familiarity for knowing someone. 

These last two weeks quietly proved how much of him had always remained hidden. 

Somewhere between midnight conversations and ordinary Tuesdays, they had started building something they'd never quite managed the first time. 

Not another romance. 

A companionship.  

Which made everything else so much harder. 

Because the physical closeness never stopped. 

If anything, it only became more natural. 

His hand settled instinctively against the small of her back whenever he walked past. 

He reached for her fingers during walks without thinking. 

He stole quick kisses whenever Ben disappeared into another room for exactly thirty seconds. 

At night it was worse. 

He rarely fell asleep without pulling her against him. 

One arm around her waist. 

His forehead brushing the back of her neck. 

Sometimes she'd wake before dawn to find his hand still resting against her hip, exactly where it'd been when they'd fallen asleep. 

As if even asleep, he was reluctant to let her go. 

And every single time... 

He stopped himself. 

She could feel it. 

Sometimes a kiss lingered a second longer than it probably should have. 

Sometimes his hands drifted just a little farther before he quietly pulled them back. 

Not because he didn't want more. 

Because he did. 

She wasn't the only one struggling to keep the promise they'd made after their date. 

She could feel the restraint in the way he exhaled against her skin. 

In the tiny hesitation before he let her go. 

In the way he always chose to roll onto his back for a few minutes afterward, as though putting a little space between them was easier than trusting himself not to erase the line they'd promised not to cross. 

One evening she'd found him standing in her bedroom, a towel hanging low around his hips while he rubbed another through his damp curls. 

She'd looked. 

Far longer than she probably should have. 

He glanced over. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." 

"Okay." 

He turned toward the dresser, opening one drawer after another. 

"You seen my shorts?" 

"Uh..." She swallowed. "Lower drawer. The left one." 

"Thanks." 

He found them, pulled them on without another thought, and wandered back toward the bathroom. 

Completely oblivious. 

Meanwhile, she'd spent the next ten minutes wondering whether cold showers actually worked. 

It had seemed like such a mature decision after their date. 

Slow. 

Healthy. 

Responsible. 

She was beginning to hate whoever had suggested it. 

"Lis?" Matt's voice pulled her back. "You there?"  

She smiled sheepishly.  

"Sorry, yeah. Had my mind somewhere else." 

 "So..." He cleared his throat. "We're obviously coming."  

Relief loosened something inside her chest.  

"You are?"  

"Girl, when will we have an opportunity like this again, to eat at a goddamm Michelin-starred restaurant?" 

Lisa chuckled. 

Another pause. Then— 

"Can I ask you something?"  

"You always do, Matt."  

"Am I overinterpreting this or... Are you sounding somehow nervous? Is it because we're coming... or because this makes everything real?"  

The smile faded from her face. She looked around her apartment. Ben's coloring book. Carmy's hoodie hanging over the back of the couch. His coffee mug by the sink. His running shoes by the front door.  

Little traces of him everywhere.  

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "If you and Noah come... it's not just dinner anymore. Our families will know each other."  

"We already kind of do."  

"Yeah..." 

She looked toward the hallway. 

"But before..." 

She stopped. How could she explain it? 

"Before, you knew about him." 

Another pause. 

"Now he's texting Noah." 

She let out a quiet laugh that wasn't really a laugh. 

"I didn't even think twice about it... I think that's what scares me.” 

Silence settled between them. 

When Matt finally spoke again, his voice had softened. 

"You know what I think?" 

"What?" 

"I think you've spent so long waiting for something bad to happen..." 

He let the thought sit between them for a moment. 

"...that now you don't really know what to do because it hasn't." 

Lisa swallowed. 

He wasn't wrong. 

"Just let yourself be happy for a while, my love." 

For a second, neither of them said anything. 

Then Lisa smiled faintly. 

"I'll try." 

"I know you will." 

"Tell Noah I'll text him the details." 

"I will." 

"Bye, Matt." 

"Love you, darling." 

"Love you too." 

The call ended. 

Silence settled over the apartment. 

Lisa lowered the phone, letting it rest against her thigh. 

Her eyes wandered almost instinctively. 

Ben's coloring book still open on the coffee table. Carmy's hoodie draped over the back of the couch where he'd abandoned it that morning. His coffee mug waiting beside the sink. His running shoes tucked neatly next to the front door. 

Little pieces of him. Everywhere. 

Two weeks ago she would've noticed every single one. 

Now... 

They'd simply become part of the apartment. 

Part of her days. Part of her life. 

The sound of keys turning in the lock pulled her from her thoughts. 

The door swung open. 

"Mama!" 

Ben's voice echoed through the apartment before she'd even turned around. 

A second later she heard Carmy laugh softly. 

"We're home, Lis." 

She looked toward the hallway. 

Ben had already kicked off one shoe and was running full speed toward her. 

Carmy stood in the doorway behind him, grocery bag hanging from one hand, keys still dangling from the other. 

He caught her eye. 

Smiled. 

Her heart stumbled. 

Not because of the words. 

Because he'd said them so easily. 

As though he'd never considered there might be another way to say it. 

Lisa barely had time to crouch before Ben launched himself into her arms. 

"There you are," she laughed, kissing his cheek. "Did you have fun with Stephen today?" 

"Yes!" 

She looked over his shoulder. 

Carmy was already setting the grocery bag on the kitchen counter as if he'd been doing it for years instead of two weeks. 

"I grabbed milk," he said. "And... uh... you were almost out of coffee." 

"Oh,” She blinked. "Thanks, Carm." 

He only shrugged. 

"You would've bought it tomorrow anyway." 

She watched him unpack the bag. 

Milk. 

Eggs. 

Coffee. 

Bananas Ben would probably refuse to eat until they turned brown. 

Completely ordinary things. 

The kind of things people stopped thinking about. 

---- 

The next half hour passed almost exactly the way every late afternoon had started to pass. 

Ben sat on the rug, rearranging his dinosaurs. Carmy crouched beside him, his voice low and steady. 

From the kitchen, Lisa rinsed the vegetables. The cold water hit the sink with a sharp, aggressive spray, a stark contrast to the quiet humming coming from the living room. 

Clack. The wooden train tracks hit the floor. 

“Dada, look!” 

“Don’t let the T-Rex win, buddy. He cheats.” 

A small burst of laughter. 

Lisa gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles ached. 

The apartment felt fuller tonight. 

Her eyes moved without permission. 

His car keys on the counter. 

His backpack on the couch. 

Small things. 

Everywhere. 

Him. 

It used to feel temporary when she noticed them. 

Now she wasn’t sure when it had stopped feeling that way. 

Her throat tightened. 

She turned off the tap too early. Water still clung to her hands as she stared at the sink, like she could find something stable there. 

And then— 

She felt him behind her. 

Warm fingers brushed lightly against the small of her back as he reached around her for the glasses. So familiar it almost didn’t register. 

Until it did. 

A flicker of something sharp moved through her chest. 

"You good? 

His voice was low. Close. 

She turned her head. 

He was looking at her—not worried exactly. Just checking. 

"...Yeah." A beat. "Matt called." 

"He did?" 

"He said you texted Noah." 

Recognition crossed his face immediately. 

"...Yeah," he nodded. "I already had his number, so..." 

He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I just asked if Friday worked." 

Lisa looked down at the knife in her hand. 

"Okay... I, uh, I thought..." The words caught somewhere halfway out. 

He waited. 

"I thought we'd talk about it first." 

Silence. Not uncomfortable. Just unexpected. 

"About dinner?" 

"No," she shook her head immediately. "I mean..." 

God. How did she explain something she hadn't managed to explain to herself? 

"I just," she sighed. "...I haven't really talked to Noah and Matt about..." 

Her hand made a vague gesture between the two of them. 

"...Us." 

The word felt strangely unfamiliar. 

"You know," another small laugh escaped her. "About the date... About... everything else." 

She stopped again. 

Carmy watched her carefully. 

"I thought I'd tell them first." 

Understanding settled over his face almost instantly. Not hurt. Recognition. 

"...Right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't think about that. I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to apologize." 

"I thought I was helping." 

"You were," she answered so quickly it almost overlapped him. "You really were." 

And she meant it. 

He held her gaze another second before nodding once. 

"...Okay." 

No argument. No explanation. Just acceptance. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. 

"Richie." 

Lisa smiled faintly. 

"Go." 

He answered immediately. 

"Yeah?" 

She turned back toward the cutting board, trying to focus on slicing tomatoes while his conversation unfolded behind her. 

"...No." 

Pause. 

"...Just push it back." 

Another pause. 

"...I'm on my way." 

His voice had changed. Not colder. Sharper. Focused. 

Chef. 

By the time he ended the call, he was already reaching for his jacket. 

"I gotta head in a little earlier." 

She nodded. 

"It's okay." 

"I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to be." 

He stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Ben's head as the little boy continued rearranging his impossible train station. 

Then he looked back at Lisa. 

"I'll come back after service." 

The words were so automatic. So certain. 

She opened her mouth before she'd really thought them through. 

"Actually..." 

He paused. 

She looked at the laptop sitting closed on the dining table. 

"I've still got that article. The one Nick's waiting for. I barely touched it today." 

He nodded. 

"Right." 

"I think..." She searched for words that didn't sound bigger than they were. "...I think I might just work tonight." 

Another nod. 

"Okay." 

"And..." She hated how difficult this suddenly felt. "...Don't worry about coming back." 

Silence. 

He didn't speak right away. 

She watched something flicker behind his eyes. 

Quick enough that she almost convinced herself she'd imagined it. 

"You sure?" 

"It's just for tonight." She smiled, hoping it sounded reassuring. "I think I just need a little time to catch up." 

He looked at her for another second. 

"...Course." 

The word came quietly. Without hesitation. Without complaint. 

He simply accepted it. Like he always did. 

He slipped his keys into his pocket. 

Bent down to kiss Ben again. 

"You be good for Mama, alright?" 

Ben nodded solemnly without looking up from the train tracks. 

"Okay." 

Carmy smiled. 

Then he straightened. His eyes found Lisa. 

For two weeks, this part had become instinct. 

He always kissed her goodbye. 

He took one step toward her. 

Stopped. Barely. 

Just enough for uncertainty to exist. 

Lisa saw it. A tiny hesitation. 

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. 

Something tightened painfully inside her chest. 

Before he had the chance to decide otherwise, she closed the last bit of distance herself. 

A soft kiss. Brief. Warm. 

"Have a good service, chef." 

He rested his forehead lightly against hers for the smallest fraction of a second. 

"Thanks, Lis." 

Then he smiled. Small. Tired. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." 

Tomorrow. 

Not later. Not tonight. 

Tomorrow. 

She nodded. "...Tomorrow." 

He left. 

The door clicked shut behind him. 

The apartment became quiet again. 

Not empty. Ben was still humming to himself on the floor. Water still ran softly into the sink. 

Everything looked exactly the same. 

Lisa stared at the closed front door for a long moment. 

Tomorrow suddenly felt very far away. 

Lisa stared at the wall. 

One arm was trapped underneath her. The other was pinned somewhere between her stomach and the mattress. His chest was pressed firmly against her back. One leg hooked entirely over hers. 

She tried shifting carefully. 

Nothing. 

She tried again. 

The hold tightened. 

Lisa bit back a laugh. 

Jesus Christ. Had he spent the entire night like this? 

Her hip definitely suggested yes. 

Slowly, she attempted another escape. 

The mattress shifted. 

Behind her, Carmy made a low sound. Not quite awake. Not quite asleep. 

His arm flexed. Then loosened. A second later, he froze. 

She felt it happen. The exact moment his brain caught up to his body. 

“...shit.” 

His voice was rough with sleep. 

Lisa smiled into the pillow. “Morning.” 

Another pause. Then: 

“Was I doing this all night?” 

She looked down at the arm wrapped securely around her middle. “Seems like it.” 

A groan. 

“Oh my God.” 

Now she was laughing. 

“Sorry,” Carmy dropped his forehead heavily against her shoulder. “I didn't mean to—” 

“Well, you attached yourself to me like a koala.” 

A strangled sound escaped him as he moved a bit to the side, giving Lisa finally some space. 

She turned enough to look at him. His hair was sticking up in every direction. His eyes were barely open. And somehow, he looked genuinely embarrassed. 

Which made it significantly harder not to laugh. 

“Carm...” 

He covered part of his face with one hand, rubbing his eyes. “I’m serious. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine... I mean, my ribs might need a minute to remember how to function at full capacity again, but it’s alright.” 

His eyes widened immediately, a flash of guilt crossing his face. 

Lisa laughed softly.

Before he could spiral into another apology, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his mouth. It caught him completely off guard—his eyes fluttering shut a fraction of a second too late, his sleep-fogged brain having zero time to react before she was already pulling away. 

Smiling, she pushed the duvet back and sat up. She stretched her arms over her head, her spine popping lightly in the quiet room. 

Carmy stayed exactly where he was, lying on his side. 

He didn't look away. He watched her stretch, his gaze tracking the line of her back where his oversized t-shirt draped against her skin. The heavy, lingering sleep vanished from his expression instantly, snapping into something much sharper. 

She was actually here. In his apartment. In his bed. 

And the sudden, jarring absence of her body heat against his chest was already bothering him. 

Before he could overthink it, a sharp vibration rattled against the wooden nightstand. 

Carmy sat up in bed and grabbed his phone, squinting at the bright screen. He immediately sighed, letting his head drop back against the headboard. 

“Natalie.” 

Lisa smiled, pulling her knees to her chest. “Good luck.” 

He answered, putting it on loudspeaker. 

“What.” 

“Wow,” Natalie’s voice echoed faintly through the room. “Good morning to you too.” 

“It’s eight in the morning.” 

“Exactly. Perfect time for a debrief.”  

Carmy closed his eyes. “No.” 

“How’d it go?”  

“Nat —” 

“Carmen.”  

“Not now, okay?” 

Lisa pressed her lips together. 

Natalie continued talking anyway. 

“So you’re refusing to answer, which means it went well.”  

“It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It absolutely means something.”  

“It doesn’t.” 

“It does.”  

Lisa watched the familiar sibling argument unfold. The rhythm of it felt oddly familiar. Comfortable. A little like her conversations with Noah. Maybe a sibling thing.  

Then Natalie asked: 

“Is Lisa there?”  

His eyes flicked to her. 

Lisa immediately shook her head. One quick motion. No.  

 A beat. Then he turned back to the screen of his phone. 

“No,” he said, the lie coming out surprisingly smoothly. “She went home last night.” 

Natalie was silent for a second. 

“...uh-huh.”  

Carmy rubbed his face. “What?” 

“Nothing, just saying.”  

 Lisa buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. 

She was trying not to laugh. It was making it worse. Somehow this whole white lie made her feel like a teenager again. 

Carmy shifted slightly toward her. He was still listening to Natalie, still staring straight at his phone like he wasn’t actively lying to his sister. 

But his hand landed flat on her bare thigh. A firm squeeze. 

A warning more than anything. 

Lisa froze for half a second, her breath catching at the sudden, heavy pressure. She looked up at him. 

His eyes flicked to her. 

Just once. 

Sharp. Controlled. A clear please, don’t without a single word. 

Her mouth parted slightly. Sorry, she silently mouthed. 

Carmy didn’t react with his face. His expression stayed completely deadpan for the phone call. 

But his hand stayed there. Steadier now. 

His thumb moved once against her skin—slower this time. Less of a reprimand, more of an anchor. Like he was keeping her there with him as much as he was keeping himself grounded. 

Lisa bit down hard on her lower lip to stop the smile from coming back, the heat of his palm completely short-circuiting her brain. 

Holding her gaze for one more second, he smartly redirected the conversation. 

“How was it with Ben?” 

Immediately, Natalie launched into the morning update. Ben and Sophie running around the house. Pete making a massive stack of pancakes. Ben insisting on helping, dropping flour everywhere, and Pete somehow remaining aggressively cheerful about the mess. 

Carmy listened, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, his thumb still sweeping steadily across Lisa’s thigh. 

“Anyway,” Natalie transitioned smoothly, her tone shifting into full management mode. “I was thinking about today. Since you guys probably had a great night, and the kids are definitely not ready to be apart yet, we’re all going to have lunch together.”  

Carmy frowned faintly. “Nat—” 

“I’m serious,” she steamrolled him. “We are in a really good place right now. It would be nice to just be together as a family. So, I want you to invite Lisa to come over, and I expect you both here around noon. Pete is already cooking something... and he may need your help.”  

“Well, I —, I don't know her plans, maybe she’s —.” 

“Oh, c’mon,” Natalie sounded entirely unimpressed. “We're having lunch. Call her.” 

“Nat—” 

“We'll see you guys around noon.” 

“Nat.” 

“Bye, Bear.” 

The line went dead. The apartment fell silent. For a second neither of them moved. 

Carmy stared at the phone. 

Then at Lisa. 

Then back at the phone. 

“She hung up on me.” 

Lisa nodded solemnly. 

“She did.” 

“She does that.” 

“I gathered.” 

He dropped the phone onto the mattress with a sigh. For a moment, they just looked at each other. 

Finally, Carmy rubbed a hand across his jaw. “...you got plans for lunch?” 

Lisa stared at him. Then burst out laughing. A real laugh this time. Bright and immediate. The kind she couldn't stop even if she tried. 

For a second he looked offended. 

Then his mouth twitched and he laughed too. A quiet, helpless sound. 

Because they both knew neither of them had a choice. Natalie had already made the decision for them. 

---- 

Lisa retreated to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face before pulling her dress from last night back on. It felt instantly different in the daylight. Wrinkled. Out of place. Still, the mirror reflected someone who looked suspiciously happy for a woman who'd slept three hours in somebody else's t-shirt. 

When she walked out, Carmy was in the kitchen. 

He had thrown on a clean white t-shirt and his jeans, his hair still a bit wild from last night. He was standing by the espresso machine, pouring coffee into two travel mugs. 

The air between them felt different now. 

Not bad. Just... awake. 

In the dark, tangled in the sheets, his clinginess had felt instinctive. But standing in his bright, sterile kitchen, Carmy seemed hyper-aware of his own hands. He pushed one into his front pocket. He watched her walk in, his eyes dropping to the dress, a brief, loaded reminder of the night before crossing his face before he quickly looked back at the coffee machine. 

He was hesitating. 

Lisa could practically see the gears grinding in his head. 

“Here,” he said, his voice a little raspy as he held out a mug. 

“Thanks.” Lisa took it, her fingers brushing lightly against his. 

Carmy let his hand drop to his side. He rubbed his thumb slowly over his own knuckles where her skin had just grazed his. 

He cleared his throat. 

“So. We have like... a bit over three hours.” He looked at her, intensely focused but physically still. 

“Yeah,” Lisa said, taking a sip of the coffee. “I figure we go to my place so I can get changed. Maybe grab some food on the way. If you want.” 

“Sure,” Carmy immediately nodded. “That sounds perfect.” 

A few minutes later, they set their empty mugs in the sink. Lisa grabbed her purse from the kitchen stool while Carmy disappeared briefly to grab a gray pullover from his bedroom. 

As he joined her at the door, Lisa was already preparing to slip one arm into her coat. 

Before she could do it, Carmy stepped forward automatically. 

"Here." 

His hands found the fabric. He helped her adjust it over her shoulders.  

A small thing. An intimate thing. 

And all the while looking at her, searching for any clue of what to do next.  

Lisa noticed something in his expression tightening.  

Before she could say anything, Carmen shifted his weight. Then his hand lifted. Careful. 

His fingertips brushed lightly against her cheek. Giving her every opportunity to pull away. 

She didn't. 

Lisa smiled. Small. Warm. Enough. 

The hesitation disappeared. 

Carmy closed the distance. His hand found the side of her neck, his thumb slipping lightly under her jaw. It wasn't smooth. It wasn't rehearsed. It was almost a little clumsy in its urgency. He ducked his head and kissed her. 

It started slow, testing the waters of the morning light, but the second Lisa kissed him back, a quiet noise escaped his throat. He pulled her a fraction closer, deepening the kiss until any lingering awkwardness of the kitchen completely dissolved. 

When they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved very far. 

Lisa smiled again. 

"Ready?" 

Carmy stared at her for a moment. Then he huffed a quiet laugh. 

"Let’s go." 

--- 

By the time they reached the bakery, Lisa’s brain was struggling to keep up. 

Not because anything dramatic had happened. 

Quite the opposite. 

Everything had felt strangely... natural. 

Carmy had taken her hand the second they stepped out of the apartment. Not consciously. Not with any fanfare. Just reached for it like it belonged there. Then, on the walk to the car, he hadn’t let go. 

Now, standing in line in the crowded, noisy bakery, she could feel the steady weight of his hand resting against her hip. 

Close enough that every shift of her weight brushed her against him. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his chest through the thin layers of their clothes. 

It was ridiculous how aware of him she was. 

The old Carmy never did this. 

Not in New York. Not even when they were alone. Definitely not in public. 

Back then, she had always been the one with initiative. The one reaching first. The one leaning in first. The one finding excuses to touch him. 

Now it felt like the exact opposite. 

And she couldn't stop wondering why. 

“What about that one?” 

His voice was low, right beside her ear, pulling her completely out of her head. 

Lisa jumped slightly. “What?” 

He nodded toward a pastry in the display case. “The cinnamon thing.” 

Lisa followed his gaze to the heavy, glazed pastry sitting behind the glass. She was still caught in that hazy, hyper-aware feeling, her brain moving half a step behind. 

“Yeah,” she murmured softly. “It looks really good. Maybe the strawberry one, too.” 

“Next, please.” The voice of the cashier cut through the noise of the bakery. 

Carmy stepped forward to the register, but he didn't drop his hands. They stayed right where they were, resting naturally on her hips, guiding her forward with him. 

“Two coffees,” he told the woman behind the counter, his voice dropping into that flat, efficient kitchen cadence. He glanced sideways at Lisa, his eyes asking a silent question to check if that was what she wanted. 

She gave a small nod. 

He looked back at the cashier. “And two of the cinnamon buns. Plus the one with the strawberry on top, please.” 

He didn't ask her to pick just one. He didn't make a big deal out of it. He just pulled out his card, handling it with an easy, casual domesticity she had never actually experienced with him before. 

While the woman turned around to bag the pastries, Lisa just stood there, watching him. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

Carmy put his card away and glanced down. He caught her looking. 

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face. He looked slightly confused as to why she was smiling at him like that, but he didn't ask. 

Instead, he just smiled back. It was a small, quiet thing, but it completely transformed his face. It erased the sharp, exhausted tension that usually lived around his eyes, making him look suddenly, strikingly younger. 

It struck her suddenly that maybe this wasn't a new version of Carmy at all. Maybe it was simply the first time she'd been allowed to see this side of him. 

They grabbed the brown paper bag and the coffees, heading back out into the cold April air toward his car. 

The drive to her apartment was quiet. Not awkward. Just comfortable. 

The heater blasted warm air through the vents while the city slid past outside the windows, gray and sleepy beneath the late-morning April sky. 

About halfway there, Lisa's phone buzzed loudly from her purse. 

She picked it up and immediately a burst of chaotic noise filled the car. 

Children laughing. Pete's voice. Someone shrieking with delight. 

Carmy glanced over. 

“What is that?” 

Lisa laughed. 

“Sophie and Ben.” A grin spread across her face as she opened the video.“Nat just sent this.” 

She tilted the screen toward him. 

The footage was shaky and clearly filmed one-handed. 

Ben and Sophie were racing around Natalie and Pete's living room in frantic circles while Pete made a dramatic attempt to catch them. 

He failed spectacularly. 

A quiet laugh escaped Carmy. 

“Jesus.” 

“I know.” 

Lisa watched the video loop again. 

Ben nearly ran into the couch. Sophie collapsed into a fit of laughter. Pete looked seconds away from surrendering completely. 

The smile on her face softened. “They're so sweet together.” 

Carmy glanced over briefly. 

Lisa looked down at the screen. “I'm really happy he has her.” 

The words came out quietly. Almost without thinking. 

“He's never really had another kid around all the time before.” The video continued playing silently in her hand. “He has Sophie now.” 

She looked up at Carmy. 

“You know... a cousin.” 

The meaning sat between them immediately. Much bigger than the video. Much bigger than two toddlers chasing each other around a couch. 

Ben had family. People. Roots. A place to belong. 

Carmy slowed to a stop at a red light. 

For a moment, he didn't say anything. But Lisa wasn't surprised. 

Some feelings seemed to short-circuit his ability to form complete sentences. 

His jaw shifted slightly. Like he was searching for words and finding none he trusted enough to say out loud. 

Then he looked over. And smiled. Small. Real. The kind of smile she saw only when he forgot to guard himself. 

The light turned green. The car rolled forward. 

Carmy's hand left the steering wheel. He reached across the center console and rested it on her thigh. 

Warm. Steady. Like an answer. 

Lisa looked down at it. Then back at him. 

His attention had already returned to the road. As if he hadn't just said everything he wanted to say.  

A strange ache settled quietly in her chest. Not painful. Just full. 

She reached down and covered his hand with hers. Their fingers slipped together naturally. Neither of them said anything. 

Carmy's thumb brushed once across her knuckles. 

The corner of his mouth twitched. 

And they drove the rest of the way to her apartment exactly like that. 

--- 

Carmy barely had his finger off the doorbell before the front door swung open. 

Pete stood there wearing a floral apron, holding a metal spatula like a weapon. He looked aggressively cheerful and slightly panicked. 

“Hey! You made it. Come on in, don’t mind the—” 

“Pete, the garlic is burning!” Natalie’s voice echoed sharply from the kitchen. 

“It’s not burning, it’s toasting!” Pete yelled back over his shoulder, instantly abandoning them to rush toward the smoke billowing out of the hallway. 

Lisa barely managed to get one arm out of her coat before two tiny bodies came barreling around the corner. Ben and Sophie were running in frantic, chaotic circles, shrieking at the top of their lungs. 

Ben launched himself directly at Lisa’s legs, almost taking her out, before immediately bouncing off and crashing into Carmy’s shins. 

Carmy didn’t flinch. A soft, genuine smile broke across his face as he reached down, catching the toddler under the armpits and hoisting him up into a warm, solid hug. 

“Hey, buddy,” Carmy murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, steady tone he always used with the kid. “How you doin’?” 

Ben babbled something incomprehensible, gesturing to the living room, almost as if he was reporting what they did the whole morning. Lisa stepped closer, closing the physical gap between them to press a kiss to Ben’s cheek and smooth down his messy hair. 

“Hi, baby. I missed you so much!” 

For a second, they just stood there in the entryway. A perfect, insulated little unit. 

“Come on in, come on in!” 

Natalie appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her eyes instantly locking onto them. She didn't miss a beat. 

“Hope you guys are hungry, ‘cause Pete made enough food for a small army,” Natalie said, her tone halfway between apologetic and exasperated.

She scooped Sophie up onto her hip and turned her management focus directly onto Carmy. “I’m taking Lisa and Ben to the living room. You go to the kitchen and help Pete with the chicken before he actually burns it.” 

“It’s toasting!” Pete called out defensively. He popped his head around the corner. “But Carm, seriously, come taste this sauce.” 

The divide-and-conquer strategy was executed flawlessly. 

In the living room, the second the kids got distracted by the toy bin, Nat turned her laser focus entirely onto Lisa. 

“So,” Natalie said, her voice dropping into a casual, conversational tone that Lisa immediately recognized as a trap. “How late were you guys out?” 

“Not too late,” Lisa said evenly, sitting on the edge of the sofa. 

“How was it? Did he behave?” 

“It was fine, Nat,” she laughed softly. “And yes, Carmen behaved.” 

“Did he actually speak? Or did he just stare at you intensely while you ate?” 

Lisa recognized the eager, unyielding gleam in Natalie's eye. If she gave her nothing, Nat would just keep digging. She had to throw her a bone. 

“Well,” Lisa started, leaning in conspiratorially. “We went to that nice place downtown. But they actually lost the reservation. So we ended up eating at a food truck by the river.” 

Natalie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, a food truck? And he didn't have a total meltdown?” 

“No,” Lisa smiled, a genuine rush of fondness hitting her at the memory of it. “He was great. It was really nice, Nat.” 

Natalie stared at her for a long second, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the flushed, happy look on Lisa’s face. 

“...I see,” Nat said slowly. 

Before she could interrogate her about what happened after the food truck, Sophie aggressively threw a wooden block at Ben’s foot, resulting in an immediate, dramatic wail that required both of them to intervene. 

Meanwhile, across the house, things were going significantly worse for Pete. 

He flipped a piece of chicken in the pan, attempting to project a casual, one-of-the-guys energy as he glanced sideways at Carmy, who was staring blankly at the stove. 

“So,” Pete said. 

Carmy didn't even look at him. “Nope, we’re not doing this.” 

Pete blinked. “Okay.” 

A long beat of silence passed, filled only by the sizzling of the chicken. 

“You know, I didn't actually ask anything,” Pete pointed out. 

“You were gonna,” Carmy replied, deadpan. 

Pete sighed, flipping another piece of chicken in defeat. “...fair.” He cleared his throat, pivoting instantly.

“Do you think this needs more lemon? I feel like it needs more lemon.” 

Carmy finally looked down at the pan. “Yeah, Pete. Needs lemon.” 

---

A few minutes later, everyone finally settled around the table. 

Or at least as settled as anyone could be with two overtired toddlers involved. 

Ben was wedged into his booster seat, already rubbing one eye between determined bites of chicken. Sophie sat across from him, kicking her legs against her chair and periodically announcing things nobody understood. 

Pete immediately launched into a detailed explanation of whatever he had cooked. 

"...and then I added parsley at the end because apparently that's what makes it restaurant quality." 

Natalie snorted. 

"That's not what he said." 

"It is absolutely what he said." 

"I just said it needed herbs," Carmy corrected. 

Pete pointed a fork at him. 

"Exactly." 

"That's not the same thing." 

"It is in spirit." 

Lisa laughed into her water glass. 

Across the table, Carmy's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close. 

The conversation drifted easily after that. 

Pete talking. 

Natalie correcting him. 

Pete refusing to be corrected. 

The toddlers contributing occasional nonsense. 

The kind of family conversation that never really followed one topic long enough to become an actual discussion. 

But at some point Lisa wasn't really listening anymore. 

She was just... watching. Reflecting. Becoming entirely, overwhelmingly aware of what was happening right next to her. 

Nobody was trying to create some perfect version of a family. 

Nobody was pretending. 

They were just... functioning. 

And Carmy was everywhere. 

Not in a loud, performative way. In the quiet margins. 

She noticed it when he reached for the water pitcher, filling her glass before she even realized it was empty. 

She noticed it when he took the salad bowl from Pete. He served her first, using the tongs with meticulous, practiced precision to push every single raw red onion to the side before putting the greens on her plate. 

He didn't mention it. He didn't ask for credit. He just remembered. 

When Ben babbled and pointed vaguely at the center of the table, Lisa didn't even have to translate. Carmy just understood. He grabbed the potatoes, cut them into perfect, toddler-sized squares, and slid them onto Ben's plate while Lisa wiped the kid's sticky hands and face. 

For a little while, everything felt warm. Easy. Safe. 

The exact kind of moment Lisa had spent years imagining. 

Which was probably why it somehow scared her. 

Because every time she looked around the table, she found more evidence that the version of Carmen she had been carrying around in her head no longer existed. 

The man sitting beside her wasn't guarded. 

Wasn't distant. 

Wasn't waiting for the first opportunity to disappear. 

He was arguing with Pete about lemon and parsley. 

Rubbing sleepy circles against Ben's back. 

Laughing at Sophie throwing broccoli onto the floor. 

Present. Entirely present. 

And Lisa didn't know what to do with that. 

A loud smack interrupted her thoughts. 

Everyone looked over. 

Sophie was glaring furiously at the blue plastic cup in front of her. 

"No." 

Natalie sighed immediately. 

"Oh boy." 

"No!" 

"Sophie—" 

The cup flew.  Water exploded across the table.  The front of Sophie's shirt. The floor. Pete's lap. 

For one stunned second, the room went completely silent. 

Then Sophie burst into exhausted, furious tears. 

"Oh, sweetheart," Natalie groaned, already pushing back her chair. "What did you do, Pete?" 

Pete was up instantly. 

"I gave her the blue cup." 

"She asked for the green cup." 

"But we don’t have a green cup," said Pete, exasperated.  

And just like that, the lunch was over. 

Sophie wailed louder, her face red and furious. 

Natalie scooped her up, already moving toward the hallway. "Pete, grab her towel." 

But Pete was completely frozen, staring at his soaked shirt and the ruined table with a look of pure, exasperated shock. 

Carmy stood up. He grabbed the roll of paper towels from the sideboard. 

"Yo, Pete," Carmy said, his voice cutting through the noise. Pete blinked, looking over. "It's okay. I got it. Go see if she needs help." 

He exhaled a heavy breath, nodding once before rushing down the hall after Natalie. 

The dining room suddenly felt massive. And empty. 

But the panic had already transferred. Ben’s lower lip pushed out, trembling violently before he burst into heavy, sympathetic tears. 

Lisa unbuckled the booster seat, pulling him tightly against her chest. "Shh, I know," she murmured, rocking him gently. "You're just tired, right, baby? It's okay." 

It wasn't really calming him. He was too far gone. 

Carmy threw the soaked paper towels onto a plate, effectively neutralizing the spill. He pulled his chair out and sat back down right next to them. 

Ben immediately reached out, his tiny, wet hands grasping blindly toward his dad. 

Carmy didn't hesitate. He took Ben from Lisa, settling the crying toddler heavily against his chest. He looked at Lisa, his eyebrows pulled together in genuine worry. "Should we... prepare a bottle for him, or something?" 

"Yeah," Lisa said, letting out a breath. "Maybe you could take him to the living room? It's a bit calmer in there. I'll see what I can find in your sister's kitchen." 

Carmy nodded, adjusting his hold on Ben as he stood up and headed for the quiet of the living room. 

Lisa walked into the kitchen. The silence in there was a sharp contrast to the dining room a few moments ago. She opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves. 

A carton of milk sat on the second shelf behind a container of leftover pasta sauce. 

"There it is." 

Lisa glanced over her shoulder. 

Natalie stepped into the kitchen, already looking slightly exhausted. A few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, and there was a damp patch on the shoulder of her sweater from Sophie's tears. 

"Well," Nat said with a sigh. "She is officially done." 

Lisa laughed softly. 

"Ben wasn't far behind." 

"No kidding." 

Natalie pulled open a drawer and handed her a small saucepan. 

For a moment, they worked in comfortable silence. 

The noise from the rest of the house had faded considerably. Somewhere down the hallway, Pete was attempting to negotiate with a screaming toddler. It wasn't going well. 

Lisa poured the milk into the pan. 

Natalie leaned back against the counter. 

"You know," she said casually, "I used to spend a lot of time worrying about him." 

Lisa looked up. 

"Carmy?" 

Nat snorted. 

"Who else?" 

A small smile tugged at Lisa's mouth. 

Natalie stared down at the countertop for a second before shrugging. 

"I still worry. He's my brother." 

The milk began warming. 

Lisa watched her carefully in the quiet of the kitchen.

Natalie wasn’t looking back. She pulled open another drawer, her hand sifting blindly through the clutter. It gave her an excuse not to make eye contact while she searched for the right words.

"For a while..." Nat hesitated, her hand stilling. "I don't know. It felt like he was always running from something."

She let out a heavy breath, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Or maybe he was just trying to punish himself all the time," she murmured, speaking more to the open drawer than to Lisa.

Her fingers finally closed around a spare pacifier. She pulled it out with a quiet sigh, shutting the drawer with her hip.

On the stove, the milk simmered softly.

"And do you know what's weird? I spent years trying to get him to show up," Nat said, her eyes fixed on the doorway leading to the living room. "For me. For the restaurant. For himself." 

She let out a small, almost disbelieving laugh.

"Honestly, he was exhausting." 

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lisa agreed. 

Nat smiled, but it was heavy with relief. "And then you and Ben showed up. And suddenly... he just does." 

A long pause hung in the warm kitchen. 

"I don't know what happens next," Nat added softly, giving Lisa a small shrug. "And honestly, that's none of my business."  

Nat stepped closer and touched Lisa's shoulder. 

"But... Just know, I'm really glad you're here." 

Her eyes returned to the living room.  

"And for what it's worth..." She nodded toward the couch. "He is too."   

Natalie turned and walked out of the kitchen with the pacifier in her hand.

Lisa didn't move.

She stood by the stove, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of the counter. The quiet hiss of the gas burner filled the silence, but Natalie’s words were settling over her, quiet and heavy.

He is too.

The bubbling of the milk, threatening to spill over the edge of the saucepan, snapped her back to reality.

Lisa exhaled a shaky breath. She quickly switched off the burner, pulling the pan from the heat and pouring the warm milk into the bottle.

When she reached the doorway to the living room, she stopped.

Carmy was sitting on the couch. Ben was curled against his chest, completely asleep. One of Carmy's arms was wrapped securely around him while the other rested across the back of the couch. 

His head leaned back. His eyes were closed. Not asleep. Just resting. For once, not bracing for something. Not waiting for disaster. Just existing in the moment. 

Lisa stood there. Watching them. 

And for one dangerous second, she let herself imagine it. Not next week. Not next month. Years. Birthdays. School pickups. Family dinners. Ordinary mornings. 

A life. 

Everything she had spent so long teaching herself not to want. 

But two years of muscle memory is a hard thing to break.

Right in the middle of all that warmth, a tiny, familiar prickle of anxiety started to creep in. A quiet whisper she couldn't completely shut out.

This is too perfect, the voice hummed. When does the other shoe drop?

He turned to hang the coats, but his attention didn’t really leave her. Even when he stepped away, moving toward the kitchen like he desperately needed a task to ground himself, the air between them stayed pulled tight. 

Lisa set her purse and the brown paper bag from the bodega on the island. She leaned her hip against the counter, watching him without trying to hide it. 

“I’ve got something,” he said, opening the fridge. “Guess it would be good with the wine.” 

“What kind of something?” 

He pulled out a small platter. Instantly, that quiet, intense focus dropped over him—familiar and absolute. Like flipping a switch. 

“Been messing with this earlier,” he said, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. “Didn’t finish it, but—” a small shrug, “—it’s close enough.” 

“What is it?” 

“Custard. But lighter.” He glanced at her briefly, then back down, adjusting something microscopic on the platter. “Eggs, cream, a little citrus. Dark chocolate on top. Just bitter enough so it doesn’t get, you know —” 

“Too much?” 

“Yeah.” 

Lisa smiled a little. “Sounds interesting, Chef.” 

He huffed a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. He stepped closer, stepping directly into her space. 

He didn’t hand her the spoon. Instead, he lifted it. 

“Wanna taste it?” 

Lisa blinked once, a sudden rush of heat flooding her chest.  

“Sure,” she said, almost too shy.  

She parted her lips. The taste hit first. Soft. Not too sweet. The citrus cutting through the richness perfectly. 

Her eyes fluttered shut without her permission. 

“Wow, okay,” she breathed out, barely above a whisper. “That’s—” 

She opened her eyes. 

He was close, inches away, watching her. Not the plate. Not the dessert. Her. 

“What do you think?” 

“It’s... very good.” Lisa let out a quiet, almost amused exhale, her heart hammering against her ribs. “And you are... very close.” 

“Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth before coming back up. “Got a bit carried away.” 

Something in her chest shifted. A sharp, dangerous kind of pull. 

She reached for the brown paper bag, needing something to do with her hands. “Let me open the wine... before you burn a hole through me.” 

“Go ahead.” He stepped aside, but not far. Still within reach. Still there. 

She pulled the bottle out and grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer, working it loose. Beside her, Carmy turned his attention back to the small platter, leaning over the counter to carefully shave a final curl of dark chocolate over the custard. 

They moved around each other in that quiet, unspoken rhythm that didn’t need explaining. 

“Glasses?” she asked. 

“Top shelf. Left.” 

She reached up for them. 

Carmy paused, his hands stilling over the plate as he watched her do it. The way she didn’t hesitate. The way she moved through his sterile, quiet kitchen like she belonged there. It did something to him. Something heavy that he didn’t quite have a name for. 

“Can I put some music on?” she asked, setting the glasses down and glancing toward the speaker on the shelf. 

“Yeah, sure. Put whatever.” 

Lisa scrolled on her phone for a second, letting a low, slow beat fill the room. Soft drums, a little bass. Just enough to sit in the background and blur the edges of the heavy silence. 

She poured the dark red wine, then picked up both glasses. 

“Come with me,” Carmy said. He picked up the dessert and a couple of spoons, nodding toward the living room. 

They didn’t bother with the dining table. 

Instead, they sat on the floor, their backs resting against the base of the couch. It was easy. They sat close to each other, setting the dessert right on the rug between them.  

“This is nice,” she said softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She lifted her glass slightly, the dark red liquid catching the dim light. “We should probably do a toast.” 

He leaned back, one arm resting on his knee, his intense blue eyes locked on hers. 

“To what?” 

Lisa hesitated for half a second. 

Then, softer— “To us.” 

He held her gaze. The corner of his mouth ticked up into a faint, real smile as he lifted his glass to meet hers. 

“And to Ben,” he added quietly. 

Lisa’s smile widened, reaching her eyes. “To Ben.” 

The glasses clinked softly between them. 

Lisa took a sip first, the wine rich and heavy on her tongue. She let her eyes flutter shut for half a second, exhaling slowly as the warmth spread through her chest. 

“God,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “I missed this.” 

Carmen glanced at her over the rim of his own glass. “The wine?” 

“Yeah.” She laughed, curling one leg closer beneath herself. “The nine months of the pregnancy plus this year and half of breastfeeding basically killed my alcohol tolerance. Just a sip and I’m already feeling it.” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Take it slow... We’ve got the whole night to finish this bottle.” 

She laughed again, softer this time. 

And somewhere after that, the rest of the tension began to loosen. 

The dessert sat forgotten between them as the conversation drifted naturally from one thing into another. No awkward pauses. No careful searching for subjects. They already knew how to talk to each other.  

Carmen told her where the custard came from—how he’d been trying to recreate an old dessert Michael used to love without making it feel too heavy for the menu. Lisa listened, her elbow propped on the edge of the couch and her head resting comfortably in her hand, watching the way his entire face changed when he talked about food and his brother. More open. More alive. 

And in return, she found herself telling him things she hadn’t planned to. 

He already knew her parents had passed in an accident when she was sixteen—she had given him the basic facts back in New York. But she had never really gone deeper than that. Never opened up about the messy, human aftermath of it with anyone.  

But sitting there on his rug, anchored by the wine and his quiet, unwavering attention, it didn't feel heavy anymore. It just felt like a memory. Something safe to hand over, the same way he had just handed over his memory of Michael. 

So she told him about Noah. About how her brother had suddenly been forced to step up, trying desperately to take care of her and keep them functioning as a family when it was just the two of them left. She told stories about Noah stubbornly attempting to keep their mother's Sunday dinners alive. About burned roast chicken and oversalted potatoes and the way grief had turned them both briefly incapable of functioning like normal people. 

That was the one that finally got him. 

Carmen laughed. 

Not polite laughter. Real laughter. Head ducking slightly, shoulders shaking once beneath the soft dark navy shirt as he rubbed a hand across his mouth. 

“Three weeks?” he asked. 

Lisa laughed too. “Three consecutive weeks.” 

“That's impressive.” 

“That's exactly what I said.” 

Another laugh escaped him, quieter this time. 

Then he looked at her differently. Like something had quietly clicked into place. 

Suddenly, Noah made a lot more sense. 

Lisa stared at him for a second after the laughter faded. Because she realized, suddenly, that she had almost forgotten what he looked like relaxed. 

The wine worked slowly through both of them after that. 

Not enough to blur anything. Just enough to dissolve the last layer of self-consciousness still sitting between them. 

Carmen’s posture loosened first. One knee angled closer until it rested lightly against hers. Then stayed there. 

Lisa noticed. 

He noticed her noticing. 

Neither of them moved away. 

And after that, the touches started happening naturally. Easily. 

Her hand brushing his arm when she laughed. His fingers catching briefly against her ankle when she shifted positions on the rug. Small things. Tiny things. But every single one felt loaded anyway. 

Because they were both aware now. Constantly aware. 

And Carmen—God, Carmen watched her. 

Not subtly, either. 

He watched her over the rim of his wine glass. Watched her when she laughed. Watched her while she talked, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of this version of her sitting in front of him now. Older. Softer in some places. Stronger in others. 

There was something almost disorienting about being looked at like that for too long. Like she was the only thing in the room capable of holding his attention. 

And maybe she was. 

The dessert eventually disappeared. The wine bottle sat almost empty on top of the couch table. Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the windows, but inside the apartment everything had settled into something warm and suspended. 

Not rushed. Not fragile. Just… intimate. 

The kind of intimacy they had never really known how to build in New York. 

Lisa wiped her thumb absently against the edge of her spoon before setting it down on the empty plate between them. Then she leaned her head back against the couch and looked at him sideways. 

“So... Was it that bad?” 

Carmen frowned faintly. “What was bad?” 

“The date.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You looked deeply offended when I told you we had to go on one.” 

A quiet huff escaped him through his nose. He looked down at his glass, thumb dragging absently along the rim. 

“I wasn’t offended.” 

“Mm.” 

“I wasn’t.” He glanced sideways at her. “It just felt weird at first.” 

“Weird how?” 

Carmen shifted slightly against the couch, one knee angled toward hers now. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged once. “Just… asking you out. Planning shit.” 

Lisa smiled into her wine. “Very traumatic for you, I’m sure.” 

“Yeah, devastating experience.” 

She almost giggled, and Carmen looked at her for a second too long before continuing. 

“I think I just…” He exhaled. “I already knew I wanted you. So part of me was like—what’s the point?” 

The honesty of it made heat rise slowly into her chest. 

“But then we got there,” he said. “And it didn’t feel like I thought it would.” 

Lisa’s gaze stayed on him, attentive and warm. 

Carmen rubbed his thumb against the glass again, searching for the words. 

“There’s stuff I forgot,” he admitted. “Little things. The way you are about certain things. What you like. What annoys you.” 

Lisa smiled faintly. “I still hate raw onions.” 

“Yeah, see?” he muttered. “That stayed.” 

She laughed quietly again. 

“But other stuff…” He shook his head once. “There’s a lot I don’t know anymore too.” 

His eyes lifted back to hers then. Steady. Open. 

“About you now.” 

Lisa looked down at her wine for a second, smiling faintly to herself. 

“Yeah,” she admitted softly. “I get that.” 

She rolled the stem of the glass slowly between her fingers before glancing back up at him. 

“I almost regretted asking you to do this, actually.” 

Carmen’s brows pulled together immediately. “The date?” 

She nodded once, a little sheepish now. 

“At first.” A quiet laugh escaped her. “I thought maybe I was making things unnecessarily complicated.” 

His gaze stayed fixed on her. Listening carefully. 

“But then tonight happened and…” She shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. It made sense.” 

Carmen didn’t say anything right away. 

Lisa smiled faintly into her glass. 

“And honestly?” she added. “I think I’m figuring you out again too.” 

That finally pulled a small smile from him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Her eyes drifted over him deliberately. “You changed.” 

Carmen huffed. “That good or bad?” 

“Definitely improved,” she said. “Thank God.” 

That made him laugh properly. Short, warm, real. 

He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “Alright, fuck you.” 

Lisa grinned into her wine. “See? Emotional growth already.” 

He shook his head, but he didn’t move away afterward. 

If anything, he settled closer. His arm stretched along the edge of the couch behind her now, relaxed enough to look accidental. 

It wasn’t. 

Lisa felt herself becoming hyperaware of the warmth of him beside her. 

“I think that’s kind of the point, though,” she said after a second. “Getting to know each other again.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen said softly. “I think so too.” 

Silence settled briefly after that. Comfortable. 

Then Lisa glanced at him again. 

“So that doesn’t freak you out?” 

Carmen frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” 

“This.” She gestured lightly between them. “Us doing this again.” 

Her voice softened at the edges. 

“The not knowing part.” 

He looked at her for a second, and something in his expression shifted immediately when he heard the real question underneath it. 

Lisa tried to hide it behind another sip of wine. 

It didn’t work. 

Carmen turned more fully toward her, his arm sliding a little closer behind her shoulders. 

“No,” he said quietly. 

Lisa looked back at him. “No?” 

“No,” he repeated, lower this time. “It doesn’t freak me out, Lis.” 

He let out a slow breath, his eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before lifting back to hers. 

“If anything…” 

Lisa swallowed. 

“It just makes me more sure.” 

“Sure of what?” she asked, barely above a whisper. 

His gaze dipped again. This time he didn’t bother hiding it. 

“Of how much I want this,” he murmured. “You.” 

He lifted his free hand then, rough fingertips brushing lightly along her jaw before settling at the side of her neck. His thumb rested against her cheek. Warm. Careful. 

Lisa felt her breath catch. 

The room had gone completely silent around them. No music anymore. No wind outside. Just the heavy pulse of blood in her ears. 

Carmy stayed there for a second, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her mouth but not closing the distance. 

Giving her room. Always giving her room. 

And somehow that almost undid her more than if he had just kissed her. 

Lisa’s eyes flicked once to his mouth before she leaned in first. 

The kiss started soft. Almost cautious. Like neither of them trusted themselves with more. 

But the second Carmen kissed her back, the restraint cracked instantly. 

His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head deeper into the kiss as he exhaled sharply against her mouth. Lisa felt herself melt toward him automatically, one hand catching against his chest to steady herself even as she moved closer. 

The wine made everything warmer. Slower. The kiss deepened in careful stages until careful disappeared entirely. 

Carmen’s arm slipped around her waist suddenly, pulling her across the small space between them. 

Lisa barely had time to breathe before she was halfway in his lap, her knee sliding against his thigh as his mouth pressed harder against hers. 

A quiet sound escaped her before she could stop it. That seemed to do something to him. 

His grip tightened slightly at her waist, fingers spreading against the fabric of her dress like he was trying very hard to keep control of himself and losing the fight inch by inch. 

And she felt it too. 

Two years of anger and grief and wanting him anyway collapsing into this tiny space on his living room floor. 

Lisa kissed him harder. 

Carmy answered immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission. 

His hand slid from her waist to her thigh, pushing carefully beneath the hem of her dress just enough to feel warm skin. 

Not greedy. But not innocent either. 

Lisa’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt as his mouth moved against hers again and again, deeper now, slower somehow despite the intensity building between them. 

Everything about him felt overwhelming up close like this. 

The warmth of his body against hers. The roughness of his fingers on her skin. 

Lisa shifted instinctively in his lap, trying to get closer without even realizing she was doing it. The movement dragged her hips against his. 

Carmen inhaled sharply against her mouth. And suddenly she felt it. 

How much he wanted her. 

Not subtle. Not imagined. Immediate. Real. Hard. 

Heat rushed through her so fast it almost made her dizzy. 

The effect it had on him was instant. 

His grip at her thigh tightened hard enough to make her breath catch as the kiss broke abruptly, Carmen resting his forehead briefly against hers like he was trying to steady himself. 

“Lis,” he whispered, her name sounding almost like a warning. Or maybe a plea. 

He moved his mouth, pressing a light kiss against the corner of her jaw, then lower, breathing uneven now. 

Lisa’s pulse jumped violently beneath his lips. 

Because this was no longer flirting. 

No longer tension. No longer almost. 

This was real enough to ruin them if they weren’t careful. 

And they both knew it. 

Carmen exhaled slowly, one hand still spread against her thigh beneath the fabric of her dress while the other stayed firm at her waist, holding her close like he physically couldn’t make himself let go yet. 

“If we keep going,” he murmured against her skin, voice rough and low, “I’m not gonna wanna stop.” 

And the terrifying part was—she didn’t want him to stop either. 

Lisa let out the smallest nervous laugh, breathless and overwhelmed all at once. 

Not because it was funny. 

Because she understood exactly what he meant. 

The room stayed still around them. Neither of them moved away. 

Carmy’s thumb stroked slowly once against her leg beneath the fabric of her dress, grounding himself as much as her. 

Then, quieter this time: 

“Which is probably not the point of this whole thing.” 

Lisa looked at him for a long second. 

Close enough to kiss him again. Close enough to keep going. 

But instead she lifted her hand to his face, brushing her thumb lightly along his cheekbone. 

“No,” she whispered. “Probably not.” 

They stayed like this for another second. Unsure of what to do next.  

Then Lisa let out a quiet breath and shifted slightly, starting to pull back just enough to climb out of his lap. 

Carmen’s arm tightened around her waist immediately. 

“Where’re you goin’?” he asked. 

The question came out so fast it almost made her laugh. Lisa pulled back just enough to look at him properly. 

“We literally just agreed we should slow down.” 

His expression stayed completely serious for another second before something softer flickered through it. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But didn’t say you had to leave.” 

The honesty of it hit her directly in the chest. Lisa smiled despite herself, shaking her head lightly. 

“You’re making this very difficult.” 

“I know.” He sounded almost unapologetic about it. 

She laughed softly then leaned in, kissing him once before he could keep arguing. 

It shut him up immediately. 

His hand slid slowly from her thigh to her waist instead, holding her there while the kiss softened into something slower this time. Less desperate. More lingering. 

When she pulled back again, she stayed close enough that their noses still brushed. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

Carmen frowned slightly. “For what?” 

“For actually trying.” 

Something in his expression shifted immediately at that. 

Lisa traced her thumb lightly along the collar of his shirt, eyes dropping there for a second before lifting back to his. 

“I just…” Her fingers twisted slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “I wanna be careful with Ben.” 

At the mention of him, the room settled again. 

Lisa glanced away briefly before continuing. 

“He’s little, but he notices everything.” A small breath escaped her. “And if we start doing this around him and then somehow…” She hesitated. “I don’t know. I just don’t want him confused.” 

Carmen listened without interrupting, his hand moving slowly against her back. 

Then, after a second: 

“Okay.” 

Lisa looked back at him. “Okay?” 

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed once along her waist. “We keep it between us for now.” 

No argument. No frustration. No defensiveness. 

Just him meeting her where she was. 

And somehow that affected her almost more than the kissing had. 

Lisa stared at him for a second before leaning forward and kissing him again. Small. Warm. Grateful. 

When she pulled back, she let out a quiet, reluctant exhale. She dropped her gaze, her hand sliding slowly from the collar of his shirt. 

"It's late," she murmured, the reality of the hour finally catching up to the quiet room. "I should probably get going." 

Carmen's eyes closed briefly. 

Like the sentence physically annoyed him. 

Lisa laughed softly. 

"What?" 

He shook his head once. 

"Nothing." 

"Carmy." 

Another sigh. Then finally: 

"I just... liked this." His eyes lifted back to hers. "Having you here." 

---- 

Eventually, they moved. 

Slowly. Reluctantly. 

Like separating was the hardest part of the entire night. 

Lisa changed in his bathroom, washing her face with trembling fingers that still felt the imprint of his hands everywhere. By the time she stepped back into the bedroom wearing one of his old t-shirts, Carmy was already in bed, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, the covers pushed down to his waist. He was scrolling mindlessly through his phone, but the second he heard the door click, his head turned. 

His eyes tracked over the oversized shirt, lingering for just a second on the expanse of her bare legs, before snapping back up to her face. He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet room. 

Lisa tried to hide the soft, self-aware smile pulling at her mouth. She walked over to her side of the mattress and climbed in, slipping under the sheets. 

The physical proximity felt entirely different in here. The mattress dipped slightly under their combined weight. 

Carmy reached out, clicking off the small bedside lamp and plunging the room into total darkness. 

For a second, Lisa lay on her back, wondering if the agreement to "take it slow" meant they were going to sleep on opposite edges of the bed like polite strangers. 

She didn't have to wonder for long. 

The mattress shifted. Carmy didn't even try to keep his distance. 

He moved closer, reaching out in the dark to wrap a heavy arm around her waist. Without a word, he pulled her backward, dragging her across the sheets until her back was pressed completely flush against his chest. 

Lisa let out a soft, surprised breath as his body heat enveloped her entirely. 

His hand stayed spread against her stomach, keeping her tucked tightly against him, like letting go wasn’t even an option anymore. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his nose brushing her hair. 

“Still think this was a good idea?” she asked quietly, trying for teasing and missing by a mile. 

His arm tightened around her just a fraction more. Not sexual. Just a desperate, quiet need to have her as close as humanly possible. 

“Go to sleep, Lis,” he murmured, his voice a low, heavy vibration against her skin. 

Lisa let out a soft laugh that sounded suspiciously like relief. 

The room went quiet after that. 

Carmen didn't move away. He stayed exactly like that—tangled around her, breathing in the scent of her skin, holding her close enough that she could feel every slow breath leaving his chest. 

Somewhere between the wine, the laughter, and his arm around her waist, she'd stopped waiting for the moment everything would go wrong. 

She wasn’t wearing anything tight. 

Her body had changed, and she wasn’t quite ready for something that clung too closely, something that asked to be looked at. Instead, she had chosen a long-sleeved, dark charcoal dress—looser through the hips, but cinched gently at the waist. It fell just above her knees, paired with black tights and worn leather boots. 

Casual. 

But not careless. 

The effort was there. Enough for him tomaybe notice it.  

Her stomach tightened slightly at the thought. 

At exactly six, the knock came. 

Lisa set the lipstick down on the sink a little too quickly, her pulse jumping as she straightened instinctively, like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. 

It was ridiculous. 

Still, she took a breath before moving, steadying herself as she walked out of the bathroom, across the apartment, and to the front door. 

Her hand paused on the handle for just a second. 

Then she opened it. 

Carmen was standing in the hallway. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rough, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. 

“Hey,” Lisa answered, a small smile already forming. 

And then— nothing. 

Carmy didn’t move. 

He just stood there, looking at her. 

Not quickly. Not casually. 

Slow. 

His eyes caught on the red lipstick first—she saw it happen—then drifted down, taking in the dress, the slight V of the neckline, the line of her legs, the boots. Not in a way that felt crude. Just… quiet, a little stunned. 

Like he hadn’t expected this. 

When his gaze finally came back up to her face, something in his expression had shifted. 

Disarmed. 

Lisa felt it settle somewhere low in her chest. 

He looked good, too. 

No white t-shirt, no hoodie—none of the usual. Instead, a dark navy button-down, tucked cleanly into dark trousers, a heavy wool coat layered over it for the cold. Put together in a way that felt deliberate. 

Like he’d tried. 

“You look…” Carmy started, then stopped, his throat working as he swallowed the rest of the sentence. His weight shifted slightly, one foot to the other, like he didn’t quite know where to put himself. 

His eyes flicked, just briefly, to the thin fabric of her dress covering her arms. 

“Don’t you need a coat?” he asked instead, quieter. “It’s cold out.” 

Lisa let out a small breath of laughter, the tension easing just a fraction. 

“Right. I was getting it,” she said, nodding. “Let me just grab it—and my purse.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

She pulled the door mostly closed behind her, leaving it cracked as she turned back into the apartment. 

For a second, she just stood there again, out of his sight now, her hand still resting against the wood. 

Her heart was beating faster than it should. 

This was fine. It was just a date. 

Out in the hallway, Carmy let out a breath he’d been holding, dragging a hand roughly through his hair before dropping it again, like he was trying to shake something loose in his head. 

Pull it together. 

By the time Lisa stepped back out, shrugging into her coat and adjusting the strap of her purse, he was standing exactly where she’d left him. 

Waiting. 

She pulled the door shut behind her, locking it with a soft click. 

“Ready?” she asked. 

Carmy nodded quickly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. 

“Yeah.” 

----- 

The drive was quiet. 

Not uncomfortable. Just… full. 

Outside, the city moved in long stretches of light and shadow, streetlamps sliding across the windshield in slow, amber streaks. Inside, the radio played softly—something low, almost indistinct, more background than anything else. 

Carmy had both hands on the steering wheel, his focus fixed firmly on the road ahead. 

But his right index finger kept tapping against the leather. 

Fast. Uneven. Not quite matching the rhythm of the music. 

Lisa noticed. 

She leaned back slightly in her seat, watching the city pass by through the window, but she could feel it—that nervous energy rolling off him, tight and contained. 

Strangely, it made her feel a little better about her own. 

“Nat came by around one,” Lisa said after a moment, her voice cutting gently through the quiet. 

Carmy’s finger stilled. 

He glanced at her, quick but attentive. “Yeah? It went okay?” 

“Yeah, it was great,” she said, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “He was so excited to see Sophie. Nat barely had time to say hi before he was already grabbing his shoes.” 

Carmy huffed a soft breath, something loosening in his shoulders as he nodded. 

“Good. Yeah… that’s good.” 

A beat passed. 

Then, a little quieter: 

“I’m really glad she took him for the night.” 

His grip shifted slightly on the wheel. 

“So we don’t have to rush.” 

Lisa turned her head just enough to look at him properly. 

“Yeah,” she said. “True.” 

The words settled between them, heavier than they should have been. 

We don’t have to rush. 

And still— Neither of them quite knew what to do with the space that followed. 

The radio filled it again, low and steady, but every time the car slowed, every time they stopped at a light, Lisa felt it. 

That slight shift beside her. 

Carmy turning his head just enough to look. 

Quick glances, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. 

Like he needed to check she was still there. 

Lisa kept her gaze on the window, but she was aware of all of it—of him, of the quiet, of the strange, fragile shape of this night stretching out in front of them. 

Starting over. 

---- 

"I'm sorry, but like, there's no reservation for you here." 

"What do you mean?" Carmy frowned, leaning slightly over the host stand. 

Lisa stood just behind him, already feeling the space close in around her. The old-school Italian spot in the West Loop was packed—people pressed shoulder to shoulder, voices overlapping, heat clinging to the air. It smelled like roasted garlic, heavy red sauce, melted cheese. 

Too much. 

The hostess barely looked up. Nineteen, maybe. Sharp eyeliner, glossy lips, long acrylic nails tapping idly against her phone before she glanced at the iPad. 

"Yeah, no," she said, flat. "There's nothing here. We don't have a table for you." 

Lisa saw it immediately—Carmy’s posture shifting, shoulders tightening just a fraction. The lack of eye contact alone was enough to set him off. 

"I talked to a guy called Seth," he said, voice already sharpening. "Two days ago. I made a reservation. Check again." 

The hostess sighed, slow and dramatic, dragging her finger down the screen. 

"Okay… let me see. Ah." She popped her gum. "You do have one. But it’s for next week. Not tonight." 

A beat. 

Carmy stared at her. 

"I made it for today. Saturday the eighteenth. Is he here? Is Seth here?" 

"No. Seth’s off," she said, already glancing past him. "We’re fully booked. I can put your name down, but it’s like… ninety minutes. Minimum." 

Lisa felt the shift. 

Not panic. 

Worse. 

The muscle in Carmy’s jaw flexed, hard. His entire body went still in that way she was starting to recognize—when something hit a nerve deeper than the moment itself. 

"You're kidding me," he said, quieter now, but edged. "You mess up a reservation and don’t even apologize? Where’s your floor manager?" 

The hostess straightened, irritation snapping into place. 

"Sir, you don’t have to—" 

Lisa didn’t let it get there. 

"It's alright," she cut in quickly, offering a tight, polite smile. "Thank you. We’ll find something else." 

Her hand slid down his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrist. 

"But I talked to them, Lis—" Carmy started, voice rising. 

"Carmen." Firm. Low. 

She tugged. 

"It's okay. Let’s go." 

For a second, he didn’t move. 

Then he let her pull him away. 

The cold hit immediately when they stepped outside. 

Sharp. Clean. Quiet. 

Carmy dropped her hand, dragging his fingers harshly through his hair as he paced a step forward, then back. 

"This is exactly what’s wrong with this industry," he muttered, voice tight with frustration. "You put someone at the door who doesn’t give a shit, doesn’t even look at you—" 

Lisa watched him, arms loosely crossed now, letting him burn it out. 

"I should’ve known," he went on. "I should’ve just booked somewhere else. Somewhere that actually knows what service is." 

There it was. 

Not just the reservation. 

Him. 

She felt it before she meant to—a small pull at the corner of her mouth. 

This is so him. 

The thought came quiet, immediate— 

God, I missed this. 

"It's not funny, Lisa," he said, catching it immediately. 

"I didn’t say it was," she replied, but the softness in her voice gave her away. 

He exhaled sharply, still keyed up, still pacing that half-step like he didn’t know where to put the energy. 

Lisa stepped forward, closing the distance and stopping him mid-motion. 

She reached for him first—fingers wrapping around his wrist, then sliding down until their hands met properly. She laced them together, grounding, firm. 

Carmy stilled immediately. 

His eyes dropped to their hands like he didn’t quite understand what had just happened. Like the contact alone was enough to short-circuit whatever he’d been about to say. 

The pacing stopped. The tension shifted. 

For a second, he just stood there, staring at where she was holding him. 

Lisa softened slightly at that. 

Then she lifted her other hand, slower this time, brushing it up along the front of his coat until her palm settled lightly against his cheek. 

Not forceful. 

Just enough to draw him back. 

“Hey,” she said quietly. 

Her thumb moved just slightly, a small, grounding touch. 

“Look at me.” 

His gaze lifted then—finally—snapping up to hers. 

And it was different now. 

Not sharp. Not frustrated. 

Focused. Open in a way he hadn’t been a second ago. 

“It’s fine,” she said, softer. “I don’t care about the reservation.” 

Carmy exhaled, the rigid tension leaving his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't—" 

"Stop," Lisa cut him off gently. She let her hand drop from his face and turned slightly, gesturing to the crowded, brightly lit avenue around them. "Look. We’re on a street full of restaurants. We can find something else. What do you think?" 

Carmy looked at her. The wind was whipping her hair around her shoulders, catching strands in the dim streetlight, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. She wasn’t annoyed. She wasn’t disappointed. 

She was just—there. Steady. Looking at him like none of this actually mattered. 

He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. 

Like he was trying to understand how she wasn’t disappointed. 

A small, defeated but genuine smile finally broke through his frustration. 

"Okay," he nodded. "Yeah. Let’s find something." 

They tried two more places. 

A glowing, modern spot—two-hour wait.  A small tapas bar—fully booked for the night. 

By the time they stepped back out onto the freezing pavement, the energy had shifted again. 

Lisa could see it settling over him—dark, heavy. 

His hands disappeared into his coat pockets, jaw tight, shoulders drawn in—like he’d already decided this was on him. 

Before he could say anything, a bright neon sign caught Lisa’s eye at the corner of the block. 

A late-night street food trailer, parked near the edge of the Riverwalk, smoke curling into the cold air. A small crowd huddled around it, waiting for foil-wrapped takeout. 

Lisa stopped walking. She caught the sleeve of Carmy’s coat, pulling him gently to a halt. 

"Okay," she said, pointing toward the glowing truck. "I know this is not exactly a Michelin-star meal, but… wanna give it a try?" 

Carmy followed her gaze, blinking at the grease-streaked window of the smash burger trailer before looking back at her. 

“A food truck?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, why not?” she countered, a teasing spark in her eyes. “You also serve sandwiches out of a window at your restaurant. I don’t get the discrimination.” 

Carmy opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely disarmed. A short breath left him as he shook his head slightly. 

“Alright, but… I’m not taking you to a food truck on our first date, Lis.” 

“It smells amazing,” she said, stepping a little closer. “There’s no hostess to tell you there’s a ninety-minute wait, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to taste incredible.” 

Carmy looked down at the pavement, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, the weight of the night still lingering on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, Lis, but…” he murmured, quieter now, something more vulnerable slipping through. “I wanted it to be perfect.” 

Lisa’s expression softened completely. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t brush it off. 

She reached for him again, fingers catching the heavy wool of his sleeve, giving it a gentle, grounding tug. 

“Come on, Carm,” she said softly, her eyes holding his. “It is perfect.” 

And she meant it. 

---- 

They sat side by side on the cold concrete bench, the river moving dark and restless below them, city lights breaking across the surface in uneven streaks. 

Lisa took another bite of her burger, chewing slowly, then glanced sideways at him. 

“I mean—” she swallowed, nudging the foil slightly toward him, “I know you’re a Michelin-star chef and everything, but… this is actually really good.” 

Carmy paused mid-chew. 

He turned his head just enough to look at her, eyes narrowing slightly like he was personally offended by the statement. 

Lisa grinned. 

“Go on,” she pushed. “Don’t hold back. Full review. I want notes.” 

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, looking down at the burger in his hands like he was debating whether to dignify this. 

“The bun’s a mess,” he said finally. “Like—structurally? It’s over. It’s done.” 

Lisa laughed. 

“I knew it.” 

“And they over-salted it,” he added, almost automatically, like he couldn’t help himself. Then he took another bite, chewing slower this time. 

The April wind whipped off the water, filling the quiet space between them. 

“…but the crust’s good,” he admitted, quieter. “They got a decent smash on it.” 

Lisa turned toward him more fully now. “Wow. ‘Decent smash.’ That’s basically a love letter coming from you.” 

“Don’t—” he shook his head, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Don’t quote me on that.” 

“I’m absolutely quoting you on that.” 

He glanced at her again, quick, lingering just a second longer this time. 

“Alright,” he said, wiping his hands on the napkin. “I’ll make you a real one. Like—an actual good one.” 

“Oh?” Lisa raised a brow. “You will?” 

“Yeah.” 

“When?” 

Carmy blinked. 

“…soon,” he said, already sounding less certain. 

Lisa let out a soft laugh. “Okay, yeah. Sure. Just like the steak, right?” 

He looked at her again, properly this time. 

“The—what?” 

“The steak,” she repeated, smiling now. “You promised you’d teach me how to sear one. In New York. Like—ages ago?” 

He stared blankly for a fraction of a second, his brain catching up to the memory. 

Then— 

“Oh, shit,” he huffed, a real laugh breaking through. “Yeah. Okay. That’s—yeah, that’s on me.” 

“I have a very good memory.” 

“Clearly,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “Jesus.” 

The distant hum of traffic from the bridge drifted over them, softening the silence. 

“I’ll do it,” he added, softer. “Both. Burger and steak.” 

Lisa tilted her head, studying him. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Carmy huffed a small breath, like he expected that, wiping his hands on the napkin. 

“For real though,” he added, glancing at her. “I’ll make you one. Properly.” 

“I’ll hold on to that,” Lisa smiled, but it lingered this time. 

She watched him for a second longer than before— the way his hands moved, absent, precise even now, like they didn’t know how to be still. 

It pulled something up from memory—New York, late nights, him at the table with a pen in his hand— before she could stop it. 

“What about your sketches?” 

Carmy looked at her. Not quick this time. Fully. 

“You remember that?” he asked, a little thrown. 

“Of course I do,” Lisa said, softer now. “I loved your drawings.” 

Something in his face shifted—small, but there. 

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yeah… I haven’t really—” he shrugged. “Not in a while.” 

“The restaurant?” she asked. 

“Yeah. That, and…” He hesitated, searching for the right words, then gave up on finding them. “Everything.” 

A heavy, quiet chill settled around them. 

Lisa nudged his shoulder lightly. 

“Well,” she said, a hint of teasing back in her voice, “I’m guessing having a toddler hasn’t exactly helped with your free time either.” 

Carmy huffed a quiet breath. 

But he didn’t laugh. 

“No,” he said. 

Then, after a moment— 

“…actually—no.” 

Lisa turned her head slightly toward him. 

He was staring out at the water now, jaw a little tighter, like he was figuring something out as he spoke. 

“I mean—I don’t really slow down,” he said. “You know that.” 

She did. 

“But with him…” he continued, quieter. “I kinda have to.” 

His fingers rubbed absently against his knuckles. 

“And it—” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It’s good.” 

The water churned darkly against the concrete wall below. 

He glanced at her again, something more open in his expression now. 

“It’s like—” he frowned, trying to explain it. “Everything else just… shuts up for a second.” 

Lisa didn’t say anything. 

She just watched him. 

“When I’m with him,” Carmy added, softer now, “it’s the only time I’m not thinking about ten things at once.” 

He looked down at his scarred hands, the admission hanging heavily in the cold air. 

“…I don’t get enough of that,” he admitted, almost under his breath. 

The words landed heavier than he probably meant them to. 

Lisa felt it immediately. 

The weight of it. 

Not just what he said—but everything underneath it. 

She looked down at her hands for a second, the foil crinkling softly between her fingers. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I get that.” 

Carmy turned toward her. 

“What about you?” he asked. “You used to—uh—ceramics, right? That studio in Brooklyn?” 

Lisa let out a small breath, almost a laugh. 

“Yeah.” 

She pulled her coat a little tighter around her shoulders. 

“That was a different life.” 

Carmy frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” 

Lisa glanced at him, then back out at the river. 

“I mean…” she shrugged lightly. “I have a kid now.” 

He didn’t answer. 

She could feel him watching her. 

“It’s just—” she continued, quieter now, but steady, “there’s not really space for that kind of thing anymore. Not right now.” 

The crinkle of foil echoed sharply as Carmy shifted his weight, suddenly tense. 

“Between work and… everything else, it’s basically three jobs in one day.” 

She said it lightly. 

Too lightly. 

Carmy didn’t miss it. 

The realization hit him visibly—sharp, immediate. 

“I’m— I’m sorry about that.” 

It slipped out before he could stop it. 

Lisa glanced at him. 

He looked like he’d just done the math for the first time. 

Like something had shifted into place in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore. 

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” she said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s just… reality.” 

But the look on his face didn’t ease. 

If anything, it got worse. 

“Carm.” 

He hesitated. 

“I said it’s okay,” she repeated, softer this time. 

She shifted her posture, intentionally breaking the heavy gravity of the moment. 

Then, lighter—on purpose: 

“And I told myself I wasn’t going to talk about any of this tonight.” 

That made him pause. 

“…right,” he said. 

“No co-parenting or baby talk,” she added, a small smile returning. 

He nodded slowly. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

A breath left him, heavier this time. 

With the heavy stuff boxed away, the conversation found its way back to something easier. 

Not forced. 

Just… there. 

It started small. 

Chicago versus New York— which one was louder, which one was meaner, which one stayed with you longer. 

“New York’s worse,” Lisa argued, smiling into her sleeve. “People don’t even pretend to be nice.” 

“They don’t have time,” Carmy shot back. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“It is the same thing.” 

“It’s not.” 

She laughed, nudging his arm lightly. “You’re biased.” 

“Yeah,” he said, without hesitation. “Obviously.” 

That turned into something else. 

Her job at the magazine—deadlines, last-minute edits, a recent feature she was working on about a pretentious bistro owner in the West Loop who refused to let her photograph his food because the lighting wasn’t “spiritually aligned.” 

Carmy snorted at that. 

“Wait. Spiritually aligned?” 

“I swear to God,” Lisa laughed, leaning back against the bench. “He made us wait two hours for the sun to hit this one specific window. For a plate of roasted carrots.” 

Carmy shook his head, a wry, knowing smile pulling at his mouth. 

“Yeah, I know guys like that,” he said. “They spend way more time thinking about the aura of the dish than how it actually tastes.” 

Lisa tilted her head, a teasing spark in her eye. “Are you saying you don't care about the aura of your food, Chef?” 

“I care about the acidity,” he corrected, entirely deadpan. “And if the carrots aren't burnt. Spiritual alignment is way above my pay grade.” 

Lisa laughed out loud, the sound bright and warm against the dark backdrop of the river. 

The conversation slipped, shifted, overlapped. 

One topic into the next without either of them really noticing. 

And somewhere in between the teasing and the half-finished stories, it stopped feeling like catching up. 

It just felt— 

easy. 

Like nothing had been lost. 

Like they had just picked something back up mid-sentence. 

Eventually, the April wind started to cut through it. 

Lisa felt it first in her hands. 

Then her shoulders. 

A sharp shiver ran through her before she could stop it, her body folding in on itself as she tucked her bare hands deeper into her coat pockets, trying to hide it. 

She rubbed her arms quickly through the fabric, like she could outrun the cold. 

Next to her, Carmy went quiet mid-sentence. 

He looked at her. 

“You’re freezing,” he said, his brow furrowing as he immediately shifted forward. 

“I’m okay,” Lisa insisted, but her teeth caught slightly on the words. “It’s just the wind.” 

Carmy shifted closer on the concrete bench, effortlessly sliding across the few inches of space separating them. He didn't ask; he just reached out, gently pulling her hands free from her coat. 

He wrapped his own hands around hers. 

They were scarred, calloused, and radiating an immense, grounding heat. 

"Wow," he murmured, his brow furrowing as he felt her freezing skin against his palms. "You’re an icicle." 

Lisa let out a small, breathless laugh. 

Half of it was from the biting wind, but the rest was entirely from the sudden, overwhelming proximity of him. The weight of his hands holding hers sent a sudden, hot jolt straight to her chest. She couldn't look away from his face. 

“I’m fine—” 

“Yeah, no,” he cut in. 

His voice was softer now, but firm. His eyes scanned her face, taking in her slightly flushed cheeks and the way she was still trembling slightly. He didn’t believe a word of it. 

He gave her hands one last squeeze to warm them, then slowly stood up, gently pulling her up with him. 

"Come on." 

He tilted his head slightly toward the brightly lit street behind them, not quite letting go of her hand. 

“Let’s get something to drink,” he said softly. “Warm you up a bit.” 

---- 

The bell above the glass door chimed sharply. 

The contrast was immediate. 

They stepped out of the freezing, dark wind and straight into the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights of the corner store. 

It was cramped. Bright. It smelled faintly of old dust and artificial cherry. 

It also felt incredibly small. 

Like the whole world had suddenly shrunk down to one narrow aisle. 

Lisa walked slightly ahead of him, her boots clicking softly against the cheap linoleum. She scanned the shelves. 

It was exactly the kind of place they used to end up in New York at two in the morning. Only now, she was wearing silk, and he was wearing a tailored wool overcoat. 

She stopped. 

Her eyes landed on the very bottom shelf. A bottle of neon-pink wine with a screw top and a cartoon flamingo on the label. Under the fluorescent lights, it practically glowed. 

Lisa picked it up. 

She turned to Carmy, holding it out with a perfectly blank expression. 

“What do you think?” she asked, entirely deadpan. 

Carmy stopped next to her. He looked at the bottle. He didn’t just look at it—he stared at it. Like it had personally offended him. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that’s literally poison.” 

“It says it has notes of bubblegum.” 

Carmy closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. “Lisa. No.” 

“It’s sophisticated.” 

“It’s food coloring and regret.” 

She held the pose for two more seconds. Then, she broke. 

A bright, loud laugh escaped her, echoing in the quiet store. 

Carmy stared at her. He saw the wicked glint in her eyes. The joke landing perfectly. And just like that, the last piece of the rigid, stressed-out ‘Chef’ armor fell right off. 

He laughed. A real, chest-deep sound that completely transformed his face. 

“You’re a brat,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

“You were so panicked,” she smiled, sliding the neon bottle back onto the bottom shelf,  brushing the dust off her hands. 

They turned back to the rack, moving slowly down the narrow aisle side by side. 

“Do you still prefer white?” Carmy asked, scanning the top rows. “Or you like red too?” 

Lisa looked over the options. 

“Both,” she said. “But maybe red this time, since we had the burgers.” 

“Yeah. Makes sense.” 

They drifted a little further down. 

Lisa’s eyes landed on a dark, heavy bottle of Italian red on the middle shelf. She reached for it. 

At the exact same second, Carmy’s hand reached for the exact same bottle. 

Their knuckles bumped. Not heavy. Just a clumsy, synchronized collision. 

They both pulled back, a soft, easy laugh breaking between them. 

“You going for this one too?” Lisa smiled. 

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Looks alright.” 

He reached out and grabbed the bottle off the shelf, holding it up and turning it over in his hands to inspect the label. 

“I drank this one a long time ago,” Lisa said. 

She stepped closer to him, leaning in to get a better look at the small text on the back of the bottle he was holding. 

“It’s actually pretty good. Do you see from which year it is?” 

Carmy hadn't answered her. 

When the silence stretched a second too long, Lisa looked up. 

And suddenly realized exactly how close she was standing. 

Carmy was already looking down at her. 

He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his wool coat. The playful, easy energy from two seconds ago completely evaporated. 

Replaced by something else. Something incredibly heavy. Magnetic. 

The harsh fluorescent lights of the store reflected in his blue eyes, but the way he was looking at her had completely changed. It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t catching up. 

He swallowed. 

His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there for a long, heavy second, before slowly dragging back up to meet her eyes. 

He didn’t move away. He didn't step back. 

“Okay then,” he murmured, his voice noticeably lower, rougher. “Maybe, uh, we can take this one.” 

Lisa couldn't find her breath to speak. She just nodded. 

Carmy tucked the bottle under his arm. 

He carried it to the register. Paid. Grabbed the brown paper bag. 

They walked back toward the front, stopping just short of the glass door. Outside, the wind was still howling, rattling the metal frame. 

Carmy stood holding the bag. He looked down at it, then at her. 

He cleared his throat. 

“We, uh—” he started. “We can’t exactly drink this on the sidewalk.” 

Lisa didn’t say anything. She just watched him. 

“And I have actual glasses,” he added, quieter now. “At my place.” 

The low hum of the store’s refrigerators filled the quiet space between them. 

“It’s ten minutes away,” he said. 

He wasn’t pushing. He was asking. 

Lisa looked at him. 

The ghost of New York was standing right there. The bodega, the cheap wine, the late night. It would be so easy to think they were just falling back into the old standard. A messy repetition of the past. 

But looking at him now— The way he was waiting. The way he was asking. She knew they weren’t. 

They weren’t kids making a mess anymore. This wasn’t falling backward. It was stepping forward. 

A slow, soft smile touched her lips. 

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go.” 

He scrolled past three sponsored ads and clicked on a listicle from Eater. Top 15 Date Spots in Chicago. 

He scrolled. 

1. Bavette’s. Too loud.  

2. Trivoli Tavern. Too crowded.  

3. Lula Cafe. Maybe.  

4. The Bear.  

Carmen paused. He stared at his own restaurant's name on the list. A short, sleep-deprived scoff punched its way out of his chest. Ironic. 

“…yeah. That’s—great.” 

He locked the phone and dropped it onto the mattress. 

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could still feel her mouth. He could still feel the exact weight of her body pressing back against him. Part of his brain—the practical, exhausted part—was annoyed. We both want this. Why are we playing games? Why don't we just do it? 

But the other part of his brain knew she was right. They had skipped everything. They went straight from a messy hookup to a baby to a broken co-parenting system. 

His jaw flexed. 

“Yeah,” he muttered to no one. “Okay.” 

A date. 

---- 

The restaurant was completely dead. 

Monday mornings at The Bear meant the doors were locked, the lights were dimmed to half, and the chaotic hum of the kitchen was completely silenced. 

Carmen was sitting at the desk in the cramped back office. He had dropped Ben off at the daycare a few hours ago—managing a very brief, completely weird nod at Stephen at the door—and came straight here to do inventory. 

Instead, he had been staring at a blank Excel spreadsheet for forty-five minutes. 

The heavy metal of the back door groaned open, followed by the familiar jingle of keys. 

"Hello?" Sydney's voice echoed slightly in the empty hallway. 

Carmen blinked, pulling himself out of a spiral about whether or not an Italian place was too cliché. "In the office." 

A few seconds later, Sydney appeared in the doorway, wearing a massive oversized jacket and a beanie, holding a half-empty cup of coffee. She looked at him, her brow furrowing behind her sunglasses. 

"It's Monday," she pointed out. 

"I know it's Monday," Carmen said, rubbing his eyes. 

"You're not supposed to be here." 

“You’re here too,” he shrugged, turning back to the computer. 

There was a pause. Then the sound of her dropping her keys over the office table. 

“You look like shit.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Another pause. 

He could feel her looking at him now.  

“So why are you here?” 

"I was doing inventory." 

Syd leaned forward slightly, squinting at his computer monitor. "Your spreadsheet looks pretty empty, Carmy." 

Carmen quickly hit the spacebar, making the screen jump. "I'm thinking about it." 

Sydney let out a long, slow breath, taking a sip of her coffee. She leaned against the doorframe, studying him.  

“You’re being weird,” she said. 

“I’m not being weird.” 

“You’re being, like—” she tilted her head, searching, “—aggressively normal.” 

He huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head. 

“I’m fine, Syd.” 

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s worse.” 

He reached for a pen, writing something random on his little booklet. 

She didn’t let it go. 

Of course she didn’t. “What happened?” 

“Nothing happened.” 

“Did something break? Did the fridge die again? Because if the fridge died again, I am walking right back out that door—" 

"Nothing broke," Carmen interrupted, leaning back in his chair. He let out a heavy breath, staring at the ceiling. "I just... I’m in this situation." 

"Okay." 

"I, uh... I have a question. A hypothetical question." 

Syd's eyes narrowed instantly. "I hate those." 

"If you were gonna go on a date," Carmen started, his voice rough, refusing to look at her. "Like, a real date. What... what do you expect?" 

"With you?" she asked, completely deadpan. "Because hypothetically, I would decline." 

"No, fuck, Syd... not with me," Carmen snapped, his ears immediately turning red. "Just—in general. If someone was taking you out. What are the rules?" 

Sydney stared at him. It took her exactly three seconds to put the pieces together. Her eyes widened, a slow, incredulous smile breaking across her face. 

"Oh my god. Are you talking about Lisa?" 

"Keep — keep your voice down," Carmen muttered instinctively, even though they were the only two people in the building. 

"I don't have to keep my voice down, the restaurant is closed," Sydney said, stepping fully into the office, her smile growing into something dangerously gleeful. "Wait. Wait, hold on. Let me just get the timeline straight." 

She held up a finger, pointing at him like a prosecutor. 

"You skipped the long dating phase. You skipped the planning of a future together phase. You went straight to procreation, then absent fatherhood and to messy co-parenting, and now you are trying to figure out dinner reservations?" 

"She wants to do it right," Carmen muttered, looking at his hands. "She wants a real date. So like... things don’t get messed up again.” 

"I mean, yeah, Carmy, you skipped the entire staircase," Sydney laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. She shook her head, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. "Okay. Wow. Good for her. Honestly, respect." 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m not—no, I’m not,” she said quickly, but there was a smile in her voice now. “I’m just—processing.” 

“Yeah, well. Don’t.” Carmen said, still staring at his hands. He could already feel it coming. 

“Okay, fine,” she said, holding up a hand. “Serious. I’m serious.” 

A beat. 

“…do you even know how to go on a date?” 

Carmen shot her a look. 

“Well, yeah.” 

Sydney raised her brows. 

“…that didn’t sound convincing.” 

She crossed her arms, leaning back against the chair like she had all the time in the world. 

“Okay,” she said. “Walk me through it.” 

“Through what?” 

“The date,” she said, like it was obvious. “What’s the plan?” 

Carmen frowned. “I don’t—have a plan. Yet.” 

“Great,” Sydney nodded. “Strong start.” 

He dragged a hand over his face again, already irritated. 

“I just—ask her. We go somewhere. That’s it.” 

“Somewhere,” she repeated. 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s your whole thing?” 

He shrugged, defensive. “It’s not supposed to be a whole—production, Syd. It’s just—” 

“A date,” she cut in. “Yeah. I got that part.” 

He pressed his lips together. 

“Okay,” she said, tone shifting a little. Less teasing now. More focused. “What does she like?” 

Carmen blinked. 

“…what?” 

“What does she like,” Sydney repeated. “Food. Places. I don’t know—being outside, being inside, coffee, wine, noise, quiet. Basic human preferences.” 

He stared at her. 

“I know what she likes.” 

“Okay,” she said. “So?” 

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. His jaw tightened slightly. 

Sydney’s brows lifted. 

“…you don’t know what she likes.” 

“I do,” he shot back, a little too fast. “I just—” 

“You just?” 

He exhaled, looking away. “I don’t know what she likes now.” 

Sydney’s expression shifted—just a little. Not softer, exactly. But… less amused. 

“Okay,” she said, quieter. “That’s fair.” 

Carmen leaned back against the chair, arms crossing loosely, eyes fixed somewhere past her. 

“She said she wants a date,” he added after a second. He huffed a dry breath. “But I don’t even fucking know what that is supposed to be like.” 

“You figure it out,” she said simply. 

He glanced at her. “Super helpful.” 

“I’m serious,” she said. “You don’t need to turn it into a whole thing. You just—pick something. Show up. Be normal.” 

He let out a short laugh under his breath. 

“Yeah, that’s—easy.” 

“Alright, look," Sydney said, slipping into her practical, chef-de-cuisine mode. "Rule number one: do not take her to a chef-y place." 

Carmen frowned. "Why?" 

"Because you're a psycho, Carmy," she said plainly. "If you take her to a high-end place, you're going to spend the whole time critiquing the plating and analyzing the fennel-to-citrus ratio, and you'll completely ignore her. Take her somewhere normal. Good food, but zero Michelin stars." 

Carmen nodded slowly. That actually made sense. 

"Rule number two," Sydney pointed at his chest. "Do not wear a white T-shirt. I know it's your brand, but put on a button-down. Let her know you actually tried." 

Carmen looked down at his white t-shirt. "Right." 

"And rule number three," Sydney added, her voice softening just a fraction, dropping the sarcasm. "Just... talk to her. Not about Ben's schedule. Not about the restaurant. Just ask her questions. Be a normal human being." 

Carmen let out a shaky exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

Sydney watched him a second longer, like she was making sure it actually stuck. 

Then she grabbed her keys off the table and stood up. “Just don’t be weird,” she said, heading towards the office door. 

“I’m not gonna be weird.” 

“You’re absolutely gonna be weird.” 

He huffed. 

“Thanks, Syd.” 

“Anytime, chef. You got this.” 

----- 

The fluorescent lights in the magazine’s breakroom were giving Lisa a headache. 

She stood in the corner next to the humming industrial coffee machine, her phone pressed horizontally to her mouth like a walkie-talkie. She had spent the entire morning staring blankly at a blinking cursor at her desk, her brain completely hijacked by the memory of Carmen’s hands on her waist. 

She pressed the microphone icon. 

“Matt, please tell me I’m not an absolute idiot,” Lisa hissed, pacing a tight circle. “I panicked. I don’t know why I said it. He was kissing me, and it was—” she cut herself off, shaking her head, “—it was a lot, okay? And instead of just being normal, I pushed him away and told him he had to take me on a date. A date, Matt.” 

She let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through her hair. 

“Who does that? Who demands a date from the father of their child? I think I completely broke his brain. I don’t even know if he’s actually going to—” 

“I mean, it depends on the guy, but I’d probably be a little confused.” 

Lisa flinched violently, her thumb slipping off the microphone button. 

She spun around. 

Nick was standing in the doorway, holding an empty mug. Slightly rumpled button-down, sleeves pushed up, expression completely neutral—like he hadn’t just walked in on her mid-spiral. 

“Jesus, Nick,” Lisa breathed, her face instantly burning. She shoved her phone into her back pocket. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough,” Nick said mildly, stepping inside. “That explains why you haven’t written a single word all morning.” 

He moved past her to the coffee machine, setting his mug down like this was a completely normal interaction. 

Lisa crossed her arms, defensive. 

“I’ve been working.” 

“Yeah?” he said, hitting the brew button. “On what?” 

She opened her mouth. Closed it. 

“…this thing.” 

Nick glanced at her over the rim of his mug as it filled, unimpressed. “Strong. Very convincing.” 

Lisa exhaled through her nose, rubbing her forehead. “I’m just tired.” 

“Mhm.” 

He didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. 

She could feel it—that quiet, patient waiting. The same look he gave when a piece didn’t quite work yet and he knew it. 

Lisa pressed her lips together. Don’t say anything. He is your editor. Just— 

“Hypothetically,” she started. 

Nick didn’t even hesitate. “Love a hypothetical.” 

She closed her eyes briefly, already regretting it. 

“Hypothetically… if two people completely skipped almost all the normal steps,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Like—dating long enough, like really getting to really know each other —and went straight into… major life decisions.” 

Nick raised an eyebrow slightly but stayed quiet. 

“And then,” she went on, words coming a little faster now, “one of them decides they want to, I don’t know—pause. Go back. Actually, do the part they skipped.” 

She glanced at him, then away again. 

“Is that… weird?” 

Nick took a sip of his coffee, thinking for a second. 

“Starting halfway through something is usually weird,” he said. “Going back isn’t.” 

Lisa frowned slightly. 

He shrugged. “If you start a book in the middle, you’re gonna be confused. Doesn’t matter if it’s good. You just… don’t know how you got there.” 

She stilled. 

“You can’t really build anything from that.” 

Lisa watched him, something in her expression shifting—just a little. 

Nick tapped his fingers once against his mug. 

“So no,” he added. “Not weird.” 

“What if it’s already… complicated?” she asked, quieter now. 

Nick huffed a soft breath. 

“Then it was already complicated,” he said. “The date’s not the problem.” 

Lisa looked down at the floor for a second, then back up. 

“…right.” 

Nick nodded once, like that settled it. 

“Figure out your beginning, Lis,” he said, pushing off the counter. “Then get me that French patisserie draft by four.” 

He walked out of the kitchen without another word. 

Lisa stayed where she was. 

The room felt quieter now. Or maybe it was just her head. 

She reached into her back pocket, pulling her phone out again. The voice message to Matt was still there. 

Paused. Waiting. 

She stared at it for a second. 

Then hit delete. 

----- 

The rest of the day blurred into a series of emails and edits, but by the time Lisa was standing in her kitchen that evening, her chest felt noticeably lighter. 

Nick’s words had settled something. She hadn’t made a mistake. She hadn’t been crazy to want a proper start. 

It was the only way this was ever going to work. 

A sharp knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. 

Lisa took a quick breath, smoothing down the front of her shirt before opening it. 

Carmen stood in the hallway, looking tired, but steady. Ben was balanced on his hip, completely focused on a half-eaten breadstick. 

“Hey,” Carmen said. 

“Hey,” Lisa smiled, reaching out. “Come here, my love.” 

Ben went easily, mumbling something around the breadstick as he transferred into her arms. 

“He had a good afternoon,” Carmen said, stepping inside as she moved back. “Ate, uh—ate a decent dinner. We just hung out afterward.” 

“Thanks,” Lisa said softly, pressing a kiss to Ben’s hair. “You tired, baby?” 

Ben didn’t answer. Just squirmed until she set him down, then immediately took off toward the living room, sneakers squeaking lightly against the floor as he disappeared toward his toys. 

The apartment fell quiet. The usual exchange was over. Now it was just them. 

Lisa stayed where she was, leaning slightly against the hallway wall, watching him. She didn’t fill the silence. 

Carmen shifted his weight, hands sliding into his jacket pockets like he didn’t know where else to put them. He held her gaze, then dropped it for a second, then back again. 

“So—” he started, clearing his throat. 

“So,” Lisa echoed, softer this time. 

He nodded once, like confirming something to himself. 

“I was thinking,” he said, voice rough around the edges, “about what you said. Yesterday.” 

Lisa didn’t move. Just waited. 

“I wanted to see if you’re free Saturday.” 

That caught her. 

“Saturday?” she repeated, a small crease forming between her brows. “Carmy, that’s—your busiest night.” 

“Yeah,” he said quickly, like he’d expected that. “I know.” 

A beat. 

“I’ll figure it out,” he added, a little quieter. “Syd’s got it.” 

Lisa stilled. 

He didn’t say it like it was a big deal. That’s what made it one. 

“And I, uh—” he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the floor before forcing himself to look at her again, “—I checked with Nat. About Ben.” 

Lisa blinked. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “She said she can take him for the evening. So we don’t have to, you know—rush or anything.” 

Something in Lisa’s chest shifted. 

He’d thought about it. All of it. 

She let out a slow breath, trying to keep her voice even. 

“Okay,” she said, a small smile slipping through despite herself. “Yeah. I’m free.” 

Carmen’s shoulders dropped just slightly, like he’d been bracing for a different answer. 

“Okay,” he echoed. 

A pause. Then, like he couldn’t just leave it there— 

“I was thinking we could just—go out,” he said, a little uneven again. “Nothing… wild. Get a drink. Food. Whatever you want. Just—” he shrugged, one shoulder lifting, “—see how it goes.” 

Lisa felt the heat rise up her neck anyway. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.” 

He nodded once. Didn’t move. 

Neither did she. 

The space between them shifted. Not lighter. Just… different. 

“Saturday,” he said. 

Lisa held his gaze. 

“Saturday.” 

Another second. 

Then Carmen stepped back, like he’d reached the edge of something. 

“I’ll—text you,” he added, already half turning. 

“Okay.” 

He gave a small nod, then pulled the door open and stepped out of Lisa’s apartment. 

Lisa closed it softly behind him. The apartment settled back into quiet. 

From the living room, she could hear Ben talking to himself, the soft clatter of toys against the floor. 

Lisa stayed where she was for a moment. Then exhaled. 

“…okay,” she murmured. 

---- 

The shift started on Tuesday evening. 

Ben was asleep in his bedroom. Lisa was sitting on her couch, a book open in her lap, when her phone buzzed on the coffee table.     Carmen: Quick question.   Carmen: Do you still drink wine? 

Lisa stared at the screen, a slow, entirely involuntary smile pulling at her mouth. 

Lisa: Only if it doesn't come out of a box. 

Three dots appeared almost immediately. 

Carmen: Okay. Good.  

For a moment, Lisa thought that was it. She checked the time, 9:15 PM. But then the three dots popped on her screen again. 

Carmen: And do you still hate places with communal seating? 

Lisa huffed a quiet laugh in the empty living room. 

Lisa: Not like before... but maybe it would still be good to avoid it.  

Carmen: Right. Noted. 

Over the next few days, the sporadic messages kept coming. 

Sometimes it was just a link to a quiet speakeasy in Logan Square, followed by a question mark. Sometimes it was a menu for a dim, cozy Italian place, asking if she would be okay with just pizza.  

He was trying to figure her out. 

Not the version of her that handed him a toddler at the door, but the version of her that he used to know. It made Lisa’s chest tighten every time her screen lit up. It felt like being pursued. It felt intentional. 

And maybe the most surprising part— he remembered. Small things. The kind she hadn’t even realized had stayed. 

For the first time since she had impulsively demanded a real date, the apprehension faded. She didn't just feel relieved; she felt seen. It made her realize that taking this step back to actually get to know each other wasn't just a boundary—it was going to be better than she expected. 

Emboldened, she picked the phone back up on Thursday morning. 

Lisa: If you are taking suggestions... I saw these two places a while ago and they looked nice.   Lisa: https://www.opentable.com/il-porcellino-chicago?corrid=71eebe3a-6b0e-452c-b9df-ed40056096fc&avt=eyJ2IjoyLCJtIjoxLCJwIjowLCJzIjoxLCJuIjowfQ&p=2&sd=2026-04-08T19%3A00%3A00   Lisa: https://www.opentable.com/francescas-on-chestnut?corrid=71eebe3a-6b0e-452c-b9df-ed40056096fc&avt=eyJ2IjoyLCJtIjoxLCJwIjowLCJzIjoxLCJuIjowfQ&p=2&sd=2026-04-08T19%3A00%3A00 

Carmen: I like the second one.   Carmen: Leave it to me. 

Lisa kept it completely to herself. 

She didn't mention it to Matt, nor Noah. She didn't talk to Nick, nor to Stephen. She just let the quiet, steady anticipation build in her own chest, protecting it like a fragile flame. 

But of course, she couldn't hide it from everyone. 

On Thursday afternoon, Lisa was sitting at her desk when a message from Natalie popped up. 

Natalie: Hey! For Saturday. Pete and I were thinking we could grab Ben right after lunch. We can take him to the park with Sophie and completely wear them both out. 

Lisa smiled, typing back a quick reply. 

Lisa: That would be amazing. Thank you, Nat. 

The typing bubble appeared again. Disappeared. Then appeared again. 

Natalie: And honestly, it’s probably just easier if he sleeps here.   Natalie: We have so much space. There's really no point in waking him up late at night to drive him back, right? Just logically speaking ;) 

Lisa covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold back a loud laugh from just imagining Nat, as discreet as she could be, winking at her. 

Lisa: You have infinite space?  

Natalie: Infinite. Practically a mansion :P  Natalie: See you Saturday! 

Lisa locked her phone, still smiling, shaking her head. 

By the time Friday night rolled around, the nervous energy in Lisa’s apartment was practically vibrating off the walls. 

Ben was fast asleep. Lisa was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was actually going to be able to sleep at all. 

Her phone lit up on the nightstand. 

She rolled over, pulling it off the charger. 

Carmen: Got it booked. 

A second later, another text came through. 

Carmen: Pick you up at 6:00PM tomorrow? 

Lisa let out a slow, shaky exhale. She typed back before she could overthink it. 

Lisa: Alright. Are we going fancy? 

Carmen: No. Casual.  Carmen: Just comfortable. 

The three dots appeared again. Disappeared. Then appeared again. 

Carmen: You always look great anyway. 

Lisa smiled into the quiet of her bedroom. 

Lisa: Okay. See you tomorrow, Carmy. 

She was about to lock the screen when the three dots appeared one last time. 

Carmen: Looking forward to it, Lis.