Page 111 of Over Her Dead Body

I stretched my legs beneath the table and rested my feet in his lap.

“Worth it?” he asked.

“I’m withholding judgment until dessert.”

“We have dessert?”

“That depends on whether you fix the leg.”

He ran his hand along my calf.

“I’ll fix it.”

His phone lit beside his plate.

He checked it and moved my feet gently to the floor.

“I have to go.”

“Where?”

“I told you. I’m picking up delivery work.”

I looked at the cartons between us. “We’re in the middle of dinner.”

“I’ve got twenty minutes.”

“You didn’t tell me you were working tonight.”

“I told you about the job.”

“You told me about the money.”

He leaned back with a sigh and glanced at the time.

“How often are you planning to do this?”

“As often as there’s work.”

“For how long?”

“Until we don’t have to save for six months to buy a table.”

“We wanted a table. We bought a table.”

“And next time it’ll be something else.” He gestured around the room. “Like a bigger place.”

“We just got somewhere to sit in this one.”

“We need a second bedroom. An office for you. Somewhere you don’t have to move your work every time we want to eat.”

He had remembered every complaint I had ever made about the apartment. The window that faced a brick wall. The kitchen drawer that wouldn’t open if someone was standing at the sink.

I had wanted him to agree that these things were annoying. Apparently, I had commissioned a solution.

“I thought you wanted that,” he said.

“I do.”