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By late afternoon, something else has crept in. Every time I check the clock, I’m measuring how much longer until I leave. Not because I’m worried about Kell. At least, not only because I’m worried.

I’m going home to him. For the first time in four years, the word home means someone is there waiting for me. Until now, it has meant the condo, my things, my quiet, my life. Now there’s someone there who will hear the door open.

I put a hand on the stack of papers waiting on my desk, and make myself get back to work. By the time I shut down my computer and collect my purse, I’m moving a little faster than I need to. Halfway home, my cheeks start to ache slightly. I relax them, then catch myself smiling again a minute later.

Kell opens the front door before I get my key into the lock. I stop with the key halfway raised. “How did you know it was me?”

“I heard you.”

“Doing what?”

“Walking.”

He’s barefoot again, and the green shirt is gone. Tom’s jeans sit low on his hips, and everything above them is warm brown weave, broad shoulders, and narrow threads of living green. I give myself the very sensible instruction to concentrate on his face.

“How was your day?”

“Good.”

I set my purse on the entry table. “That is an extremely unhelpful summary.”

Kell follows me farther inside. “Paint dried. I tried puzzle. Bad puzzle.”

“What was wrong with it?”

“It had one answer.”

I laugh. Of course that would offend him. “You do understand that most puzzles are designed that way.”

“Bad design.”

There’s no point in arguing. He rejected Janet’s paint-by-number because somebody else had already decided where every color belonged. He’s already suspicious of anything with only one right answer.

Then he adds, “I made eggs.” That gets my attention. “You used the stove?”

“Yes.”

I wait for more. None comes.

“How did that go?”

“Good.”

“And you turned it off?”

Kell points toward the kitchen instead of answering. I go in. The stove is off. The pan is washed. He made himself lunch, cleaned up after himself, and survived my absence without incident. One of us had considerably more faith in Kell than the other.

One cabinet door is open. I close it. Behind me, Kell says, “You did not need to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No.”

I turn around. “We’re not starting this again.”

His expression is perfectly composed. “We never stopped.”

My laugh comes before I can prevent it. Hearing it in my own kitchen makes the workday fall away faster than usual.