“The agreement says she lives with me,” Matthew replied. “It says nothing about acceptable transportation.”

Rebecca almost smiled. Almost. She gathered her dress and climbed into the truck.

For several minutes after they drove away, neither spoke. The glass towers of downtown gave way to brick stores, narrow homes, corner markets, and balconies where laundry moved in the warm wind.

Matthew kept both hands on the wheel.

“You can throw the flowers away,” he said eventually.

“They aren’t mine.”