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“Yeah.” I don’t mention that most are bottles people have given to me over the years—birthdays, corporate events, congratulations on a great year/new offices/coming baby sort of thing. I simply open the pantry door. “I’ve got a collection. Take a look.”

She strolls toward the mostly empty shelves. “Keep working on that pile of dishes. We should probably have some zippy white with chicken and seafood for dinner, but I love me a good red. Merlot it is. That okay?”

“I guess. I’ve never tried it.” Becca didn’t drink, and I only imbibe when I’m hanging out with Sebastian.

“I’m beginning to think my mission in life is to expand your horizons.”

I only know random details about Nia’s past. She grew up in Georgia, then decided she wanted a totally different experience while she pursued higher education, so she applied to institutions in the northeast and northwest, finally deciding to attend the University of Washington. She graduated with honors in four years with a degree in communication and a minor in business administration while holding down crappy minimum-wage jobs. She filled the summers of her college years with adventures—backpacking through Europe and building clean-water facilities for rural South American villages. For graduation, she saved up for an epic trip, journeying to Africa by herself to see the other side of the world. I give her tons of credit, especially since I don’t step out of my shell much.

“If anyone could, it’s you.”

She looks proud of herself as she wags a finger at me. “Don’t you forget it. Corkscrew?”

I shrug.

“I’ll look around. You keep washing.”

I hear her rummaging through drawers, muttering softly to herself as I continue to work at the mountain of glass and china that’s been stacking up for months. At least the stove is relatively clean since I’ve hardly used it.

“Ah-ha!” After some clinking and rattling, she holds up the implement, triumphant. “Found it.” Moments later, she has the bottle open and she’s poured some into two clean glasses. “What should we toast to?”

“Me getting my act together?”

“Other than this domestic mess, no one has their act more together than you. How about…new possibilities?”

Like a clean house and a new wife? “To new possibilities, then.”

We clink glasses and sip. It’s not awful, actually. I’m surprised.

For the next two hours, we talk about work and fix the abysmal state of my living room while I try to ignore the spices wafting through the place and making my stomach rumble. Becca preferred bland food, but I like something with kick. What Nia is simmering smells divine.

By the time it’s ready, she’s reorganized half my cabinets, directed me on how to scrub my refrigerator from top to bottom, and sorted months’ worth of magazines and mail off the kitchen table and into either the trash or my home office.

My penthouse is beginning to feel something approaching normal again. But it’s not home anymore.

I swallow a bite of gumbo and peer across the table at Nia. I realize that I know her…but I don’t. She’s told me an assorted collection of her facts and memories, but I don’t know the kinds of things that belong in her dating profile. I don’t know what makes her tick.

“Uh-oh,” she mutters and washes down a bite with her wine. “You’re staring at me like I’m a problem you have to solve. That scares me.”

I laugh. “I’m not going to add you to my project list when I get back in the office tomorrow.”

“Thank god.”

Again, I stare at her. I’m used to seeing Nia five days a week. But have I ever really looked at her?

“You know, I was thinking earlier…” she begins. “It’s going to be weird come January, when you’ve relocated to Maui. You won’t be in the office beside my desk anymore. If I have a question, you’ll be far more than a few steps away.”

I didn’t think about it like that. Working remotely has never been a problem for us; we’ve done it when I’ve traveled. But suddenly I’m wondering whether having Nia twenty-six hundred miles away makes sense. I rely on her for so much. “You have a point.”

“Maybe…you don’t have to move that far away.”

I’ve considered this thoroughly. It might be one of the five emotional decisions I’ve made in life. “I can’t stay in Seattle.”

Too much history. Too many memories. No real connections…except maybe to Nia. Suddenly, I’m loath to leave her behind.

Her face softens. “Maybe if you sold this place and found another⁠—”

“The only family I have left lives in Maui.”