“Maybe you’ll be able to write more if we’re not tripping over each other for desk space,” I say with a warm smile, though my brow furrows in slight concern. Oliver has such talent, but I know he struggles sometimes to get the words out. I think he puts too much pressure on himself, but I get why.

“New year, new house,” I say with a nod, setting my glass down so I can come up behind him at the stove and wrap my arms around him, burying my face against the back of his neck.

“I’d like to look near the water,” I murmur against his skin. “We both do better near the water, don’t we?”