“I drew up blueprints for a gazebo just like this,” I told him. “But with marble instead of wrought iron.” I gazed at him knowingly, and he just shot me a glance but kept silent. “I like the wrought iron,” I said. “It was a good choice.” He’d found my design and built it. The one I did after I lost my heart for the other gazebo and just forced the finish, instead of doing it right.
