“Any plans after practice?” I ask.
“Film review. Then maybe I’ll swing by the grocery store.”
“You?” I tilt my head. “At a grocery store?”
“I know how to buy food.”
“You know how to buy protein powder and sparkling water.”
He looks offended. “I also buy fruit.”
“What kind?”
He hesitates half a second.
“Exactly,” I say.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ll come with you,” I offer. “We can argue about avocados like a normal married couple.”
His mouth curves, softer this time. “You’re assuming I’d let you pick produce.”
“Rude.”
We both laugh, and for a moment, the world feels appropriately sized. Not tilted. Not distorted by headlines or interviews or people trying to insert themselves into something they don’t belong in.
Ollie drains his mug and sets it down. “What time’s your session?”
“Four, maybe.”
“Okay.” He nods. “I’ll be home before that.”
I step closer and adjust the collar of his hoodie. “Don’t fight the rookie too hard.”
“I don’t fight rookies.”
“You glare at them until they reconsider their life choices.”
“That’s mentorship.”
“Sure.”
He leans in and kisses me quickly. “Text me if you hear anything from Vinny.”
“I will.”
He grabs his keys, and I watch him head toward the door. For a stretch of minutes after it closes behind him, the loft is quiet in the most peaceful way. Coffee half finished. Toast crumbs on the counter. The television still murmuring softly about playoff seeding and injury reports.
It feels like any other morning, and maybe that’s the most radical thing about it.
I’m still standing in the kitchen when my phone buzzes against the counter. I expect Vinny again. Or maybe a studio notification.
It’s Miles with a single message.
Miles: You need to see this.
Followed by a link.
