The edge of a bright blue silk scarf poked out from beneath one corner of the taped wrapping paper.

It was the very same blue scarf I’d seen lying under the spare tire in his trunk four days earlier.

“You shouldn’t have spent the extra money,” I said.

“You deserve nice things, Penelope,” Bob said, coming over to the stove and bending down to smell the soup.

“We’ve both worked hard for seven years.”

He looked at his watch and tapped the glass face twice with his thumb.

“It’s six twenty,” he said.