Hugo had bought too much bread. It lay across the little kitchen counter in three incompatible shapes, evidence of a theory that a first supper could be improved by providing alternatives.
Lavinia examined it when she arrived.
“Were you expecting me to bring an orchestra?”
“I didn’t know which you liked.”
“You could have asked.”
“That has occurred to me since.”
She chose the smallest loaf and kissed him before taking off her coat. Three weeks into dating, he had learned that he liked being surprised by her affection, provided she gave him the fraction of time in which to turn towards it. She always did. He hoped she knew he noticed.
“I’ve come to inspect the lamp,” she said.
“It’s made an effort.”
He took her into the sitting room. The lamp was on; the hideous shade threw a soft amber light over the chair and the low shelf…
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