Delaney
Married life, it turned out, was considerably less dramatic than the eight months that had led up to it, and Delaney found herself grateful for the specific, unglamorous rhythm of it, grocery lists and laundry schedules and the small, accumulating intimacy of learning someone's real habits instead of just their public performance.
"You leave your gear bag in the hallway every single time," she told Roman, three weeks into marriage, stepping over the offending bag for the fourth day running. "We have a closet. It has a door. The door opens."
"I'm aware of the closet's capabilities."
"And yet."
"Muscle memory," Roman said, unbothered, kissing her temple on his way past. "I've dropped that bag in the same spot outside a hundred different locker rooms for a decade. Give me time to
