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‘You could always do something with food,’ Denise muses. ‘The stroganoff was to die for and they—’ She tips her chin at the griddle. ‘Look ah-mazing.’

I grin as I flip the other five bubbling pancakes. ‘You wait till you taste them.’

‘Who taught you to cook?’ Lucy asks.

‘Bob,’ Holly says.

She smiles at me. I smile back. I like she not only knows this part of my story but jumps in to tell it. There’s an intimacy to it and another way of staking her claim.

‘The building super?’ Denise asks.

I nod. ‘He’s a relative who took me in for a few years when I was a teenager.’

‘What else did he teach you?’ Lucy asks.

I smile at all the pearls of wisdom – some more like bombs than pearls – that Bob has taught me over the years. ‘He taught me how to mend things,’ I tell her. ‘From the thermostat in the basement to birds with broken wings. He taught me that punctuality was important because people’s time was precious and wasting it was rude. He taught me that if you want to change the world, start by making your bed because how can you accomplish the big things if you don’t have time for the small?’

To this day my bed is neatly made each morning.

‘He taught me that…’ My gaze shifts to Holly and our gazes lock. ‘Life is short and if something feels good and right, even if it’s only fleeting, grab it with both hands.’

Which was why I joined my first band and went down the path of prioritising my music. Because it’s always felt good and right. But now I have Holly, I realise that Bob wasn’t talking about things. About possessions. Or jobs.

He’d been talking about people.

I might not be able to fully articulate this feeling I have for Holly, and I’m pretty sure as she holds my gaze that she can’t either, but it’s important. That I know, for sure.

And the loud bang of my heart concurs.

‘He sounds pretty damn wise,’ Denise murmurs.

‘He is annoyingly so.’ I laugh as I drag my gaze off Holly. ‘Like a jolly Dalai Lama.’

‘Who clearly makes amazing pancakes.’ Lucy is practically salivating as she eyes the skillet and, when I put a loaded plate between them ten minutes later, they are like seagulls on a discarded packet of French fries.

The first whimper is Lucy’s, and I smile. Still got it. But it’s Holly’s whimper that grabs at my gut. I want to make her whimper like that for the rest of my life, I realise, and as much as I have enjoyed getting to know her friends, I suddenly wish we were alone so I could watch Holly devour the entire plate just for the joy of listening to that little noise of appreciation and knowing that I’m responsible.

My phone rings as they eat and I check the screen. Smiling, I say, ‘Speak of the devil,’ and hold up the phone so they can all see Bob’s name flashing on the screen.

‘Tell him he is a god amongst men,’ Denise says around a mouthful of pancake.

I’m laughing as I answer the phone, but it doesn’t last long. It’s not Bob. It’s one of his army buddies – Triton – with bad news. ‘What?’ I say, not quite believing the words he murmurs into my ear, his voice catching like he doesn’t quite believe them either.

Heart attack. Didn’t make it.

‘What?’

It must be by my tone, or maybe it’s just that Holly is as finely attuned to every nuance of my speech and mannerism as I am to hers. She stops eating and frowns just as I seek her out, my eyes fixed on hers. I must look terrible because she stands and says, ‘What?’

But I can see in her face she knows what’s being told to me on the other end. She’s probably had to do exactly the same thing –be the bearer of bad news – so she knows the expression. Denise and Lucy look at me too with the same kind of understanding.

Triton tells me he’ll text me some details then I hang up. ‘Bob’s dead,’ I announce, our gazes still locked.

She doesn’t say anything, she just crosses the space between us in a flash, her arms sliding around my waist, her head lying on my chest, tucking in under my chin.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers as I lean into her embrace and, knowing she really means it, somehow helps.

I stare at the beer in the bottom of my glass. It’s been ten days since I came to Reno to see to Bob’s arrangements, which luckily he had meticulously outlined on his laptop in a folder markedfuneral. We cremated him today, and tomorrow I will take his ashes back to where Linda is buried not far from the apartment building so he can be next to the woman he loved and adored.