"That doesn't make it not sad."
He looks at me as if surprised by the empathy. "She used to say I argued so well I should get paid for it. She was always abig proponent of, 'If you do something well, don't do it for free.' That's why I became a lawyer."
I smile softly. "She sounds amazing."
"She really was."
The candlelight softens his features, making him look younger, less guarded. I hate to admit it, and I'll probably never ever say it out loud, but I like this relaxed version of Adrian. He seems more human than a machine.
Our food arrives—gnocchi for me, risotto for him. Over garlic bread, we exchange relationship histories.
"Longest relationship?"
I feel defensive immediately. "Three months, sophomore year of college."
"And since then?"
"Nothing longer than eight weeks." I twirl pasta around my fork. "I got too focused on writing. Partners felt neglected, and I felt smothered. Turns out I'm better at writing love stories than living them."
"I've never been in love," he grimaces, "Not really."
"What about those relationships that ended?"
"Transactional. Convenient." He takes a sip of wine. "They ended because I prioritized work."
"So we're both disasters at relationships. We're like a match made in heaven."
"That's why this arrangement works. No expectations."
I study him across the table. "What do you do for fun, then?"
There's a long pause. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again. "I read. I run. I..."
"That's it? That's your entire list?"
"I work."
I stare at him, horrified. "Adrian. This is tragic and really sad."
"What would you have me do? Book clubs on Thursdays and tea parties every weekend?"
"It's depressing. You run for fun? Who does that? The only way I'm running is if someone's chasing me."
"That, honestly, is so on-brand for you."
After lunch, I direct him to a small bookstore in the village that I discovered during my teenage summers. For a moment, I'm worried it's no longer there, but it is.
It's cramped and wonderful—narrow aisles, floor-to-ceiling shelves, organized chaos. My kind of place.
"Wow. This is ... extensive," Adrian whispers as we enter.
"This is paradise. Come on."
I'm on a mission, pulling books from shelves and piling them in Adrian's arms. Fiction, poetry, a graphic novel, and contemporary romance. His expression grows increasingly alarmed as the stack grows higher.
"I don't have time for leisure reading, Emmy."
"That's exactly why you need it."
