to look foolish at a pottery wheel. Somehow, being willing to do that had brought me closer to her than any carefully arranged demonstration of competence could have.
On Sunday, we met at the supermarket before heading to my apartment.
Sabrina had suggested it. If I was cooking dinner, she wanted some influence over the ingredients. I told her the menu was already planned, and she replied that this was a promising time to begin revising it.
She arrived in a pale pink sweater and jeans.
Before I could greet
