at the perfect moment.
Behind us, a waiter stacked two chairs.
The greenhouse smelled of damp leaves.
For once, nothing needed a rule.
The following morning, I woke to a message from Elise. There was a photograph of the remaining cake, two forks, and the corner of the list on her kitchen table. Beneath it, she had written that the committee required clarification about breakfast.
I called instead of replying.
“Coffee remains a beverage,” I said when she answered.
“An unusually defensive greeting.”
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Nathan.”
For a
