good. The sauce was better than the jar I would have used alone, although I declined to make a statement she could quote indefinitely. Sabrina accepted my silence as a confession.
She told me about a set of bowls she wanted to make, none of them necessarily identical but related enough to belong together. I told her about the museum event, and we checked our schedules without treating the future as something dangerous to mention.
There were modest plans between us now.
Another meal.
An exhibition.
Collecting the pottery once
