had been threatening to "formally inspect" Noah for two weeks, and true to her word, she showed up to brunch that Saturday looking like she'd dressed specifically for cross-examination in leopard print blouse, gold hoops the size of bracelets, a notebook she pulled out of her bag the second she sat down at the kitchen island like this was a deposition and not a meal.
"Diana." I set a plate of eggs in front of her, mortified in advance. "Please don't."
"I absolutely will." She flipped the notebook open, uncapped a pen with theatrical precision, and looked up at Noah, who had just walked in from his office in a soft gray sweater that made him look, unfairly, even more like a magazine ad than usual. "Sit. This won't take long. Probably."
Noah glanced at me, something almost amused flickeri
