“She had a soft spot for you. She was so much nicer to you than she was to me,” I say fondly, and there’s a small ache in my chest because I can so easily picture them in the kitchen together. He would have been a worthy pupil for all the knowledge she had to give.

“Trust me. I know how good I’ve got it,” I tell him, pointing my fork at my nearly cleared plate before setting it down so I can lift the wine bottle. I finish it off between our glasses and then turn in until our knees are pressed together under the table. “In so many ways.”