The kids crash hard. Mason mid-sentence. Mia mid-chew, a cookie still in her hand. We carry them upstairs and tuck them in, Agnes, jacket, the full ritual and stand in the hallway.
I turn to leave, but Nick stops me.
“Drink?” Nick says.
“No.”
“One drink.”
“I’ve had two already.”
“One more. You danced with a broom for six years, Emily. You deserve a cocktail with an actual human.”
“The broom never stepped on my feet.”
“The broom never dipped you either.” He’s already walking toward the elevator. Not checking if I’m following. Just walking, hands in his pockets, the linen shirt still rolled to his forearms. “Come on. Be fun.”
“I’m fun.”
“You haven’t been fun since 2020.”
“I was fun last Tuesday.”
“You yelled at a fabric supplier for forty-five minutes last Tuesday.”
“That was fu
