I unwrap the sourdough loaf I made the other day and cut off a few slices. “Hey, I was thinking… Can we talk about what happened on New Year’s?” “What happened on New Year’s?” “You already forgot?” He blushes. “Like I could forget that. I just wanted you to speak it into existence. We kissed, then you ran away from me. Did I do something wrong? Was it not good for you?” “It’s not that,” I say. “I told you it was—” “Nice.” Hudson spins his hat backward and carefully cuts the tomato into thin slices with a smaller knife. I’m momentarily distracted by both movements. “I remember. I was there.”
