They had coffee after meetings, then dinners after pantry shifts, then Sunday walks along the lake where she made fun of how seriously he took weather forecasts.
The first time Victoria came to his penthouse, she stood in the living room, turned in a slow circle, and said, ‘This place looks like a very successful dentist lives here by accident.’
It was the truest thing anyone had said about his home.
Within months there were framed photos on the shelves.
A plant on the kitchen counter.
A blanket that looked chosen rather than staged.
Her nephew Malik, whom Victoria had helped raise through most of high school, sometimes did homework at the dining table after school.
The apartment stopped sounding like a museum.
Isaiah finally noticed the sunrise some mornings because someone stood beside him to laugh at how dramatic he got when he actually slowed down enough to see it.
