when Nina finally got up. She walked into the kitchen area wearing what she had worn to bed—gray gym shorts and a white tank top, except now it was beneath a frayed robe that she left untied. “Morning,” she said and went to the coffeepot without waiting for a reply. “I remember, before we actually started living together, when you wore weapons-grade nightgowns and other assorted outfits from Victoria’s Secret.” “That’s when I was lucky if I saw you a couple times a week. It was more of an event back then. Now I see you every night.” “The excitement has gone out of our romance.” “I wouldn’t say that. Besides, it’s what’s in the package that matters. Not the wrapping paper.” Still … my inner voice said. There were bagels in a bag on the counter. She opened the bag, retrieved a blueberry bagel, and set it on a plate. Her hand hesitated as it reached toward a wooden block where our Chicago Cutlery was stockpiled. “Where’s the knife I like to use?” she asked.
