KATIE GOT BACK HOME from her physical therapy appointment — and another secret hour of skating — after sunset. This time, there was no Brendan making a disaster of the kitchen with his jam-making. As she covered a bowl of leftovers so they wouldn’t spatter and slid it into the microwave, she heard his voice call from the living room.
“Is that you?”
She didn’t need to ask who he meant. Having him here was so comfortable. But how to make that comfort last? “Yeah, just a minute.”
She walked into the living room a few moments later, holding her bowl of chili with her fingertips so it didn’t burn her hands. The sky beyond windows was a riot of gold and orange, but inside the room was dark, lit only by a lamp in the corner. Brendan was in the armchair next to it, his laptop open on his knees.
