She said she wanted to expand her studio and travel to Portugal to study tile work.

She also wanted one uninterrupted Saturday morning to read a book.

We made room for those things before talking about any future together.

When I walked her home, we paused outside the building.

She kissed my cheek and said, “Don’t rush this.” For once I didn’t.

I went home and waited until the next day to text her.

She answered with a photograph of Wyatt’s latest cooking disaster.

We were beginning again in the only way that could work: amid the ordinary interruptions of the life we already shared.