Sebastian left for Monterey on Saturday morning.
He came into the kitchen at seven in his jacket with his keys in his hand and the specific quiet resolve of a man who had decided what the day needed and was going to give it exactly that. I was at the table with coffee and my laptop and I looked up when he came in.
He stopped in the doorway.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he said.
“Stay as long as you need,” I said.
“It might be —”
“Sebastian.” I held his gaze. “Stay as long as you need. I’ll be here when you get back.”
He looked at me for a moment.
Then he crossed the kitchen and leaned down and kissed me — not the quick goodbye version, the other kind, the deliberate kind that said something specific that neither of us needed to translate — and then straightened up and went to t
