“I tipped correctly.”
“Of course you did,” Sophie says.
“You flirt by tipping correctly.”
“I don’t flirt with servers.”
“You flirt with systems,” Sophie says.
“It’s why you’re difficult to love and delightful to watch.”
I pick up my coffee from the desk and take a sip. It has gone lukewarm, but not enough to punish me.
“Diana liked the first two pieces,” I say.
“She should. You’re brilliant.”
“She used the word exceptional.”
Sophie sits up straighter. The teasing leaves her face for half a second, replaced by something warmer and more exact.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t waste that word.”
“No,” I say. “She doesn’t.”
“Then take it,” Sophie says.
“I am taking it.”
“You are reporting it. That is not the same.”
I look toward the balcony doors. A strand of hair has slipped loose from the knot at the back of my neck, and I tuck it behind my ear.
“I laughed when she emailed me,” I say.
Sophie’s expression softens. “Good.”
“It was a normal laugh.”
“I love that you think I called to audit the classification of your laugh.”
“You might have.”
“I might have,” Sophie says.
“That doesn’t make the answer less useful.”
I set the coffee down and move my pen away from the edge of the desk before it rolls off.
“I’m fine, Sophie.”
Sophie goes quiet. That is never casual with her. Sophie’s silences have shape. This one sits between us, patient and unsparing.
“Serena,” Sophie says.
