The library was the same as it always was.
Books along three walls. Two chairs facing each other by the window. The afternoon light coming through at the angle that the room received it on Saturdays, lower and more direct than weekday light, filling the space with the particular warmth that made it the best room in the house at this time of day and the reason I had always found my way to it when I needed somewhere to think without interference.
We sat in the chairs.
Not across from each other at maximum distance, the way the room could be configured. The chairs were angled toward the window, which meant we were beside each other more than opposite, both looking at the same rectangle of afternoon light and garden below, able to look at each other by turning slightly but not required to.
