We moved, laughing.
At my apartment, Sabrina set dessert on the counter and looked around.
She had stopped by briefly once before, but this was the first time she had entered without somewhere else to go immediately afterward. Her eyes moved from the books beside the couch to the dining table and the small framed photograph on the shelf.
“My parents,” I said, following her glance.
She smiled.
“You look like your dad.”
“That has been alleged.”
She stepped closer to the books.
“You really do take work home.”
“Some
