Page 190 of ClickBack

The television mutes inside. I hear her cross the house.

She opens the door in a T-shirt, her hair wrapped for the night, and looks at me like she’s trying to work out whether I am physically possible.

“You’re supposed to be in Texas.”

“Finished early.”

“You could have told me.”

“You going to let me in first?”

She steps back. I get my bag over the threshold before she reaches for me.

I drop it. Her arms go around my waist, and I hold her against me with my cheek against her head. I have been gone a day and a half. I’m not about to explain why I missed her this much.

“How was your meeting?” I ask.

She lifts her face. “You flew home to ask me about accounting?”

“Among other things.”

I kiss her. She has one hand at the back of my neck when we finally make it out of the kitchen.

“It went well,” she says. “Three hours to establish that the report they said they never received was attached to an email two of them answered.”

“You pull it up?”

“On the large screen.”

“That’s my girl.”

She laughs and points me toward the couch. On the television, a contractor is standing in what used to be somebody’s kitchen.

“What’d he do?” I ask.

“Bought the house for its character. Started removing it.”

I settle beside her. She reaches for my arm before starting the show.

“I liked hearing you talk about the team today.”

“I liked having answers.”

“And I appreciated what you said about me.”

“I wanted to say more.”

“I saw.” Her fingers move down my forearm. “You looked at him, and I knew exactly where the rest of the sentence was.”

“Still here if he needs it.”

She gives me a look, but she’s smiling when she turns the sound on.

We get through part of the kitchen before she sits forward.

“Wait. I have something.”

“For the contractor?”