“Little calmer?” he asked.

“Yeah.” It was hard not to feel calm around this man. His voice alone was like a nightcap.

She reached out and touched his hand. Funny how intimate – how bold – that felt, after everything else they’d done. Bold but pleasant. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’m sorry you got your time wasted tonight, but it was nice to not be alone with myself for a little while.”

He smiled and turned his hand over, circling her wrist loosely in his fingers. “My time wasn’t wasted. I don’t think people can do the things we have with and for each other without qualifying as friends, Samira. And anyone who thinks it’s a waste of their time, hanging out with a friend who’s having a shitty day… well, they deserve a punch in the side of the head.”

She laughed, rubbing his palm with her thumb. “Good point.”

“I brought wine, and my night’s all freed up. You want to watch TV or a movie or something?” He paused, seeming to reconsider. “I mean, unless that’s weird. Unless Mike would be uncomfortable with that.”

Mike. She wasn’t certain if she’d ever heard Bern speak his name before. And she had to give the matter serious thought. What would Mike want? For his wife to sit home alone with her grief, if the alternative was for her to get her emotional comfort from his sexual rival? There was a line buried in here somewhere, a blurry one. But she also doubted that Bern had any designs on her apart from fun and sex. He wasn’t trying to move in on her, or on Mike’s role as her partner.

She told Bern, “I think he’d rather I had the company.”

“You can check with him.”

She considered it, but he was probably still out, and she hadn’t told him precisely when to expect her call. “He’s having drinks with colleagues right now.”

“Glass of wine while we wait?”

Sam thought about it. “You know what? He thinks you’re coming over tonight to fuck me. If he’s going to have an issue with us hanging out fully clothed, as friends, on a night when I really don’t feel like being alone…? That’s an argument I’m willing to have with him. So, executive decision – sure. Let’s watch a movie.”

“Right, then. You pick, I’ll pour.”

Sam knew a lot of things about Bern Davies’s tastes, but none of them helped her as she scrolled through the offerings on Netflix. He seemed like an action-movie kind of guy. And she could go for some mindless explosions and stunts just now. “How about I pick three, and then you decide between those?” she called.

Bern was at the breakfast bar, busy with the cork. “Just pick. I’ll watch whatever.”

“That’s too much pressure. I’ll choose three.”

“As you like it,” he said, and walked over to deliver glasses and the open bottle to the coffee table.

“Okay,” she said, eyes narrowed at the screen. “This new superhero thing is option number one.”

“Already saw it. Kinda sucked.”

“See? I told you choices were important. Okay, how about something older, then?” she asked, scrolling. “I’ve never seen Commando.”

“A classic.”

“Okay, Commando, or…”

“Commando. Hit PLAY.”

“Bossy,” she scolded, but did as he said.

Bern took a seat and filled the glasses. Sam got comfy, sitting cross-legged and pulling the afghan over her lap. She wasn’t cold, just vulnerable, and the weight of it was comforting. Same as Bern’s arm might feel if she leaned into it… but she didn’t dare. She was studying that arm as the studio logo appeared, and he noticed.

She turned to the screen. “Sorry. You have distracting arms.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“No, just being honest.” She glanced down at herself and laughed. “Wow, you’re really peering behind the curtain tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got that bad news before I could pick out some clothes or do anything with my hair.”

“I think you look beautiful.”

She snorted. “This is what I’d wear to clean the house.”

“Well, you must look beautiful when you’re dusting, then.”

She smacked his shoulder. “You Southern men.”

“What about us?”

“What’s the term? Honey-dripper.”

He made a face, the picture of innocence. “Never. I just call it like I see it.”

“Do you get teased by the other contractors for that accent?”

“Sometimes. I had this one guy who was always calling me ‘Rodeo.’ I tried to tell him I’ve never been on a horse in my life, but he wasn’t hearing it…” He trailed off, looking thoughtful.

She nudged him with her elbow. “What?”

“How were your parents, when you hooked up with Mike? Are they traditional about stuff, like wanting you to marry a guy from the same background?”

She shrugged. “I think my mom was, but she never came out and said it. My dad couldn’t care less. He’s really into the American melting-pot concept, not traditional at all. The only thing I know we did that disappointed them was not having kids.”

“That’s officially off the table, huh?”

Sam nodded. “We’ve always been ambivalent. And, I mean, we’ve had little moments where one of us is suddenly intrigued by the idea, but we’ve had way more moments where we’re positive it’s not for us. And parenthood isn’t a decision I want to go into half-assed, you know?”

“Sure.”

“What about you?”

“I dunno. I want to say yeah, I’d like kids someday. But I’d have to get married, and at the moment that’s really not high on my priority list.”

“You’ve got time.”

He made a face. “I’m thirty-six. Gimme four years to meet and fall in love with the right woman, and I’m already looking at forty-year-old dadhood.”

“Forty’s nothing these days. Especially for the guy. Now me – if I changed my mind tomorrow, my eggs are already on the fifty-percent-off day-old shelf, halfway to the Dumpster.”

Bern laughed and winced at once. “Harsh.”

“It’s true!” She leaned forward to top off her glass. “I’d get all those weird looks from people, like, Gray hair and pregnant? And my mom would be sending me links to articles about every terrifying older-mother birth defect there is. But you – you’d just get teased by people, like, Uh-oh, Bern, looks like your bachelor days are over!” She poked him in the arm. “In fact, you’d probably get thrown a party to celebrate your virility or something. All while my ovaries are being serenaded with a funeral dirge. You hit forty and you get put out to stud. I hit forty and I’m off to the glue factory.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re fucking insane.”

Sam sank back in her seat, vindicated. “It’s all true. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

“Drink your wine, crazy lady.”

She took a big sip, realizing the heavier feelings had lifted enough that she could register the alcohol’s warm tingle. She hadn’t taken any of the movie in, and when machine-gun fire flared, Bern lowered the volume.

He said quietly, “It’s nice to see you smiling again.”

Sam nodded. “When you get news like that, it’s hard to remember there’s other ways to feel, aside from just… agonized.”

“You need to talk more?”

“No. Thank you. I feel sort of numb about it just now, like I’ve used all my sadness up for the night. I’m sure I’ll be a wreck again tomorrow, but for now, I think I can just sit with it. Let it sink in, in the back of my head, while I let other stuff distract me.”

“Good plan.” Bern regarded her for a long moment, gaze slipping from her eyes to her shoulder. His hand came up to touch her hair, giving one curl a soft tug and watching it spring back. “I like your hair like that.”

“Tell me you like it the other way, too, because it’s embarrassing how long it takes to get it to look that good.”

He smiled, the gesture etching little lines under his eyes. “I do. But it’s neat to see what it looks like, left to its own devices… You know when you’ve been dating someone for two or three months, and you’re getting pretty comfortable with each other, but you still make a decent effort every time you have a date?”