Keir carried the chair through Blythe’s gate and discovered it would not pass the inner arch.
He had measured the chair. Blythe had measured the arch. Neither had thought to compare the numbers before he brought it across half the city.
For a moment they stood on opposite sides, holding a piece of furniture between them and considering the limits of adult competence.
“Turn it,” Blythe said.
“Which way?”
“The way that makes it fit.”
“A helpful specification.”
They turned it. A leg caught against the copper edge. Blythe swore. Keir apologised to the chair, which made her laugh so hard they had to set it down.
It was a good beginning to living together, he thought. Not elegant. Difficult to mistake for a performance.
They had talked about it for two weeks. Then talked about something else. Then returned to it over breakfast as though the question had become…
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