Page 167 of Full Contact

“You did take your coat out of my hands.”

“That was the only honest thing I did all night.” He laughed, short and sharp. “I’ve thought about that coat a lot.”

I almost laughed too, but there was something I had to say first.

“I love you.”

Mark blinked, and then he smiled.

“I love you too,” he said.

I kissed him. He tasted like airplane coffee, and he kissed me back hard, one hand gripping the front of my shirt and the other at the back of my neck, his thumb pressed under my ear. I’d gone weeks without touching him.

When we broke apart, his tie had slipped the rest of the way out of his pocket and landed on the floor.

I wrapped my arms around him. He smelled like recycled cabin air and hotel soap. He held the back of my shirt with both hands, and I pressed my face against his neck and didn’t say anything.

When we stepped back, neither of us went far. He sat on the arm of the couch, and I leaned against the counter by the coffee machine, close enough to touch.

“I’ve been thinking about what I can actually change,” I said. “I can stay at your place more—regular nights, not only when it’s easy. Anna can cover an evening when I want to be somewhere. And Springfield. When you come. Josh will still get a morning with me.”

“I’ve been changing things too,” Mark said. “Devin ran Game Seven. I stopped answering every email that didn’t need me. I’ve spent a decade giving work an extra half hour, then coming home and guarding whatever was left. You got the part of me that needed to say no.”

He laughed and wiped one eye with the heel of his hand. “Listen to us.”

“Should I let you draft a memo? Maybe that’s easier.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He grabbed my wrist. “No. No memo. I don’t want a policy for every Tuesday.”

“Okay. No memo.”

“I’m still going to want nights alone sometimes. And I need to be able to say so without you hearing that I’m leaving.”

“So do I. The nights, not the leaving. I mean—“ I stopped. “You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” He was smiling, eyes sparkling. “But some nights I’m going to want you even when it’s inconvenient.”

“We’ll move what we need to move.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ll move anything—except Peaches’s medical regimen.”

“Except Peaches, right.” He laughed, then stopped. His grip tightened on my wrist. “And if something hurts, you tell me. You don’t sit at your stall and decide for me.”

“I won’t.” My voice cracked on it. “I’ll tell you. You tell me too—and not in the work voice.”

“Not in the work voice,” he said. He pulled me down by the wrist and kissed me, quick and clumsy, his nose bumping mine. “I promise.”

My phone buzzed. I took it out, and the confirmation was still on the screen. Mark looked at the name at the top of the screen in the airline’s capital letters. TRIER/CLARENCE.

“Clarence,” I said. “You’re allowed to use it. Not required. Allowed.”

“I’ll save it for when it counts.”

“Come home with me,” I said.

Mark picked up his bag and held it up an inch. “I brought this from the hotel. I didn’t know where I’d be sleeping tonight.”