I folded the paper and slipped it into my purse beside my business ledger.

We walked out of the building into the parking lot, where my blue Toyota SUV sat in the third row.

Ethan reached out and took the keys from my palm, unlocked the driver’s door for me, and handed them back.

“I’ll meet you at the apartment at four o’clock to finish sorting the kitchen boxes,” Ethan said.

“I’ll leave the crib hardware on the hallway table,” I told him.

“I picked up three extra rolls of moving tape on the way over,” Ethan said, pulling a brown paper bag from his coat pocket.