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“He’s saving the plants because he wants to impress his girlfriend when she visits,” Inés pipes in.

She’s been typing on her laptop, pretending not to listen, but as usual, she never misses a thing.

“Agh, when do I get to meet her?” Mina exclaims, looking genuinely in pain. “I can’t believe I didn’t get to see her at the retreat!”

“That’s what you get for sneaking off into dark corners with corporate fuckboys,” Matt says.

Mina ignores him, propping her chin into her palms.

“What does she look like, Inés?”

Inés answers bluntly. “Tall, standoffish and drop-dead gorgeous.” She points at me over her laptop. “Evan’s definitely punching above his weight.”

“Thanks!”

“Don’t worry, son,” Patch says warmly. “I was punching abovemyweight when I met my husband, and we’re still married fourteen years later.”

Inés laughs. “That’s because Arty’s too tired for divorce.”

“The way Evan looks at his girl,” Matt says slyly. “I’m sure she’splentytired.”

“Smart move,” Patch says, winking at me. “Solid tactic. Good on you.”

I stand up and glare at them all. “You all know I’m never bringing her here now, right?”

“Oh, come on!” Mina calls after me.

“Evan,” Inés says, and I stop to peer back at her around the door frame. “We’re all glad you’re staying, just so youknow.”

I grin and leave. Behind me, I hear Matt mutter, “I’m not”—followed by, “Ow! I didn’t even mean it!”

I’m still grinning like an idiot by the time I reach my desk.

Sophie and I spendour first Valentine’s Day together holed up in my apartment. With the end of law school finally in sight for Sophie, you’d think she’d start breathing a little, but that’s just not what my girl is built like.

Ever the perfectionist, ever the academically gifted good girl, Sophie is working harder than ever: running on caffeine, staying in the library past midnight every other day, avoiding distractions like the plague.

Between advanced electives, seminars, and clinics, her work with Harvard Law Review, final rounds of moot court competitions, Sophie’s firing on all cylinders. I’ve never been more in awe of her.

I have to essentially kidnap her out of Cambridge to force her to spend Valentine’s Day weekend with me, and she still brings her laptop and armfuls of books with her.

In the evening, I come home to find her in exactly the same position as I left her, sitting on the living room floor with her laptop on the coffee table, papers and books strewn all over the couch and floors. It’s dark in the apartment and the only light is coming from her laptop screen, as if she’s not even realised night fell.

Letting out a small breath of laughter, I turn on the lamps and kiss the top of her head. She barely looks up, typing furiously, the light from her laptop screen reflecting off her glasses—I can practically hear the overheated whirring of her brain.

I don’t even need to tiptoe around the flat to avoid disturbing her: she’s in full concentration mode as I clear away all the empty coffee cups from around her laptop, bringing her over a cup of fresh coffee, placing a pillow behind her back.

When she finally snaps her laptop shut, she stands up and springs over to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

“All done! Do you still want to do dinner?” She checks her watch and pulls away from me, face falling. “Shit, it’s so late already. I’m so sorry.” She looks at me in dismay. “Do you think we’ll still be able to get in somewhere if we leave now? I can get ready quickly.”

It’s almost insane to me: the contrast between Sophie’s dismay and my own emotions, bone-deep satisfaction, pure exhilaration and the surprised realisation thatthisis my life—a life I once wouldn’t have even dared imagine for myself.

“Relax, love.” I slide my hands up her neck, cradling her head gently. “I’ve already ordered pizza.”

I can practically feel the tension melting from her shoulders. “You have?”

“Uh-huh. And dessert. And there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge and a box of those boozy chocolate truffles you love.”