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“Coffee.”

“What did you put in it?” I asked.

“Just trust me.”

I took a cautious sip. It was sweet, heavily spiced, and contained enough milk to challenge the legal definition of coffee.

Sloane watched me. “Well?”

“It’s dessert, not coffee.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I scowled. “It wasn’t meant as praise.”

“It sounded positive.”

I took another sip, which made her smile.

“You’re working on our date,” I said.

“I am closing one file.”

I lowered the screen halfway.

She looked at my hand. “You’re interfering with my source of income.”

“I scheduled two hours.”

“So did I.”

“Then be here.” The words came out more directly than I intended.

Sloane became quiet.

I started to apologize, but she closed the laptop completely. “You’re right.”

“I could have said that better.”

“No. You said it fine.” She placed both hands around her cup. “I’m not used to someone waiting for my attention.”

“I can wait.”

“I know. That’s part of the problem.”

“How?”

“It makes it easier to ask you to.”

I understood. People rewarded our worst habits when those habits made life more convenient for them. Sloane’s clients appreciated that she answered them immediately. My family appreciated that I always came when they asked.

Neither group benefited from asking whether we should.

I reached across the table and took her hand. “For the next two hours, the clients can survive.”

“And the pack?”

“I put my notifications on silent.”