Aaron stood on the limestone porch holding a huge arrangement of white orchids and pale blue hydrangeas.

He wore his casual weekend cashmere, the soft charcoal sweater I bought him for his fiftieth birthday.

“I know I should have called the house phone first,” he said.

He stepped forward and pressed the damp floral wrap against my chest.

I took the heavy stems and left the door wide open for him to walk inside.

He wiped his leather shoes on the mat and looked around the empty hallway, taking in the antique mirrors and the crystal chandelier.

“You froze my heavy platinum corporate credit card,” I said.