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Morgan thought she must be texting a mad woman. Calming? Putting together Ikea furniture?

OK, this I have to see! I have wine. We can order a pizza. And…I have ice cream.

When Chloë’s reply came, it made Morgan’s nipples harden, but she didn’t care.

Oh, Miss Banks…you had me at “lamenting.” Address, please.

***

“You’re wearing pants!” Morgan exclaimed close to an hour later when Chloë arrived. Her former student was indeed not in a dress tonight, instead sporting loose fitting running pants, a well-worn Barrington High hoodie and Converse sneakers.

As she entered the house, Chloë said, “Well, putting together furniture is hardly a dress-wearing occasion so you’ll have to suggest something more fun if you want me to make more of an effort.” She winked at Morgan, who then felt flushed.

Chloë surveyed all the boxes in the foyer, which were hard to miss. She blew out a breath.

“Dude, there’s no way we’re getting through all this in one night,” she mused, hands on hips.

“Oh, I didn’t expect us to,” Morgan agreed. “I’ll just be happy with whatever help you can provide tonight and then I’ll tackle the rest. Eventually. Someday. Maybe I’ll have it all done by Christmas.”

“Or I can come back tomorrow to help you finish,” Chloë stated.

“Oh, no!” Morgan said. “It’s bad enough you’re giving up your Friday night for something stupid like this; I can’t ask you to give up your Saturday too!”

Chloë giggled.

“You act like I have the social life of a movie star,” she said.

“Well, not a movie star, perhaps; but I assume that a twenty-four-year-old has better things to do on her weekend than help her former teacher put together furniture.”

Chloë looked at her and Morgan wished more than anything that she could read that look. It was a cross between snarkiness and giving Morgan a dare, and it was making it impossible for Morgan to look away.

“This twenty-four-year-old doesn’t,” Chloë said, cocking an eyebrow. “Anyway, you promise

d me wine, Miss Banks.”

Morgan bit her lip. Since their friendship began, Chloë only infrequently used her first name; the rest of the time, it was “Miss Banks.” Morgan had no idea why but whatever the reason, she liked it far too much. Kind of like the way she was liking Chloë’s perfume far too much right now.

Maybe this was a bad idea…

“I’ll get the wine,” she told her guest.

“And I’ll start unboxing,” Chloë responded.

***

“See, the great thing about putting together Ikea furniture,” Chloë said, sometime later, screwing a whozit onto a whatzit, “is that you follow these super simple instructions and gradually, whatever it is you’re constructing starts to take shape. It goes from being a loose bunch of parts to becoming something recognizable. It’s an ever-building feeling of accomplishment. I find it therapeutic in a way.”

Simple? Therapeutic?

Morgan was certain Chloë might be a little insane. Ikea instructions were anything but simple. Maybe as a woman with an advanced degree in English Literature, she just preferred instructions with words instead of line drawings. Perhaps her Berkeley education had made her too smart to comprehend such simplicity. And therapeutic? Only in the sense that every time she tried to build something from Ikea, Morgan expected to end up in therapy.

“Hand me part H, please,” Chloë instructed, holding out her hand.

“H. Okay…” Morgan looked at the remaining parts of the glass cabinet, which Chloë had laid out neatly on the floor, found the piece and handed it over.

Chloë had been the one to decide that the glass cabinet should be the first to be built, as it seemed the most complicated.

“That way, when it’s done, we can look forward to the easier stuff,” she had said.