She baby-stepped over to the far end of the bed

Part of the emergency kit Milo and Rick hadgotten me last Christmas. Tire changing kit, flares, orange Day-Glo roadmarkers, blankets, bottled water.
Rick taking me aside and confiding, “I’d have picked a nice sweater, but acooler head prevailed.”
Milo’s voice bellowing from the corner of their living room: “Haberdasherydon’t cut it when you’re stranded out on some isolated road with no lights andwolves and God knows what other toothy carnivores are aiming their beady littlepredator eyes at your anatomy, just waiting to—”
“Then why didn’t we get him a gun, Milo?”
“Next year. Some day you’ll thank me, Alex. You’re welcome in advance.”

I hooked up the pump and got to work.
When I was finished, Robin said, “The way you handled it—just enough todefuse the situation and no one got hurt. Classy.”
She took my face in her hands and kissed me hard.
We found a deli on Washington Boulevard, bought more takeout than we needed,drove back to Beverly Glen.
Robin walked into the house as if she lived there, entered the kitchen andset the table. We made it halfway through the food.

When she got out of bed, the movement woke me. Sweaty nap but my eyes weredry.
Through half-closed lids, I watched her slip on my ratty yellow robe and padaround the bedroom. Touching the tops of chairs and tables. Pausing by thedresser. Righting a framed print.
At the window, she drew back one side of the silk curtains she’d designed.She put her face against the glass, peered out at the foothills.
I said, “Pretty night.”
“The view,” she said without turning. “Still unobstructed.”
“Looks like it’s going to stay that way. Bob had his lower acre surveyed andit’s definitely unfit for construction.”
“Bob the Neighbor,” she said. “How’s he doing?”
“When he’s in town, he seems well.”
“Second home in Tahiti,” she said.
“Main home in Tahiti. Nothing likeinherited wealth.”
“That’s good news—about the view. I was hoping for that when I oriented theroom that way.” She let the curtain drop. Smoothed the pleats. “I did a decentjob with this place. Like living here?”
“Not as much as I used to.”
She cinched the robe tighter, half faced me. Her hair was wild, her lipsslightly swollen. Faraway eyes.
“I thought it might be strange,” she said. “Coming back. It’s less strangethan I would’ve predicted.”
“It’s your place, too,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
“I mean it.”
She baby-stepped over to the far end of the bed, played with the edges ofthe comforter. “You haven’t thought that through.”
I hadn’t. “Sure I have. Many a long night.”
She shrugged.
“The place echoes, Robin.”
“It always did. We were aiming for great acoustics.”
“It can be musical,” I said. “Or not.”
She pulled at the comforter, squared the seam with the edge of the mattress.“You do all right by yourself.”
“Says who?”
“You’ve always been self-contained.”
“Like hell.” My voice was harsh.
She looked up at me.
I said, “Come back. Keep the studio if you need privacy, but live here.”
She tugged at the comforter some more. Her mouth twisted into a shape Icouldn’t read. Loosening the robe, she let it fall to the floor, reconsidered,picked it up, folded it neatly over a chair. The organized mind of someone whoworks with power tools.
Fluffing her hair, she got back in bed.
“No pressure, just think about it,” I said.
“It’s a lot to digest.”
“You’re a tough kid.”
“Like hell.” Pressing her flank to mine, she laced her fingers and placedthem over her belly.
I drew the covers over us.
“That’s better, thanks,” she said.
Neither of us moved.