practical expectation I had brought to the project.
Sabrina set her bag down beside it.
“That works.”
“So far.”
She took my hand.
Through the kitchen window, late-afternoon light reached the table where we had eaten dinner. There would be other meals, awkward conversations, scheduling problems, and mistakes neither of us could predict yet. The crooked bowl offered no protection against them.
I liked it anyway.
Sabrina glanced toward the kitchen.
“Next time we go shopping, can we just buy groceries?”
I looked at her, at the coat she had
