Elliot Vaughn stepped out of the university building, shoulders slumped with fatigue. He had managed to appear composed, leaving the final word to himself—but inside, he was in turmoil. He didn’t even fully understand what had come over him, or why he’d staged that jealous scene with Julian. No, that wasn’t true. He knew exactly why. A familiar, unending fear: that everything they did held no future. Julian was so young, full of promise—academically and personally. That’s what people believed. And Elliot? He was steadily aging out. How much longer did he have before Julian decided he’d rather move on? A younger colleague, or even a fresh-faced student. Someone he had nothing in common with, but who made sense for the future. And what would they even talk about anyway? Legal loopholes?

They actually joked about that in bed once or twice. Or more. Hardly the base of lasting union.

A car horn broke his thoughts. A white Kia pulled up, and the window slid down. A manicured hand in a stylish jacket waved from inside.

“Professor Vaughn, did you order a ride?” called a pleasantly low, slightly husky voice.

Elliot always thought that voice—smooth, seductive—would’ve made a killer career on the radio, or as the star of some premium-rate phone service.

“Only if you’re not running a meter,” he replied with a smile through the driver’s window. “And no chitchat on the way.”

“What meter? Honey, I already gave you the best years of my life,” the woman behind the wheel quipped. “This is a business-lady ride, not a taxi. Now get in, my Don Quixote of civil law.”

He chuckled, circled the car, and climbed into the passenger seat, tossing his folder onto the back seat.

“How do you survive without a heater?” he grumbled, rubbing his hands. The deceptive September sun was already bowing to dusk, and the air cut sharper.

“How do you go through fall without a coat?” she shot back. “Years pass, and you’re still you, Vaughn. Shiver a bit and act like the world’s ending. Is that your standard mode, or did you upgrade to the winter edition?”

“My all-season model, darling. You liked it last time you picked it out,” he muttered without real malice.

She laughed. “All right, you prickly old man, just hang on for fifteen minutes. Once we’re inside, I’ll make tea. You’ll thaw.”

“Tea is fine, but I’d prefer a proper wood-burning stove.”

“Fueling is fine, but if you want a stove, you’ll have to help first. I called you over to help, not to freeload. If you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“I’ll help.”

“Relax, I’m joking. I’ve basically finished everything already.”

“Basically?”

“Well, the curtains aren’t up. And my cat got lost in the storeroom.”

“You got a cat?” Elliot turned to her in surprise.

“Of course. I’m an adult woman. Strong, independent, with a mortgage, a few extra pounds, and a cat. All proper and functional. Now I just need to choose: knitting blog or cooking blog.”

“Irene. A cat? A cooking blog? Really?”

“So you agree I’ve gained weight?”

“No, that’s a separate debate I’d like to reopen.”

“Mercy granted. Tea? What’ll it be?”

“Whatever you give me. Just not that Arabic cinnamon one—you know how I feel about it.”

“Like students after their second retake: mistrust and slight loathing.”

They arrived quickly at her new apartment. It was modest but cozy—bookshelves, candles, a cat curled in a chair. Not new, but arranged with heart. The furniture reminded Elliot of the years they’d lived together. It was good, but something between them was off. And growing.

They had dinner at a small round kitchen table. Elliot removed his blazer, rolled up his sleeves, visibly more relaxed. Irene stirred salad across from him.

“I swear I think you conned me,” he said. “What furniture do you still need help with?”

“None. When I asked, it was necessary. Then, on inspiration, I built the wardrobes, drawers, shelves myself.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. Of course she had.

“A neighbor offered to help, but I refused. Want to know why?”

“Because you're stubborn like an IKEA stool?”

“Wrong word. You meant dumb.”

“Of course not. You’re not dumb. I’d never say that. Plus it wouldn’t be true,” he said, grabbing the salad and tossing it while she handled the hot dishes.

“No. Because I’m a strong, independent woman.”

“I can see that.” He nudged the curled-up cat, who had decided to seek affection. “Is that a tomcat?”

“Yes.”

“That’s odd.”

“Maybe he senses a fellow homme à chats in you.”

“I don’t think I seem like a cat.”

“But the type who likes men? Absolutely.”

“Irene.”

“What, Irene? I didn’t offend you. We’re just stating facts. Aren’t we, Buttons?” She looked fondly at the cat rubbing against her leg.

“So Buttons is not neutered?”

“No.”

“And he doesn’t go for female cats?”

“None. I adopted him from a shelter. People there stared at me a bit oddly. Then, when I tried to take him, he jumped out to say goodbye to the other cats. Not a single look at the girls.”

“Maybe that were his buddys,” Elliot offered, still trying to defend the innocent feline.

“Yep. Co-conspirators, I’d say.”

“Okay, fine. Topic closed.”

“If you say so.” She smiled slyly and plated the patties with sides.

“Your patties are the best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh please, hyperbole.”

“I mean it sincerely,” he protested, already plunging his fork into one.

“What if I married your friend, and you moved in here instead? Am I not like Lilia Brik?”

“Brik never married Mayakovsky. And you’re not divorced from me yet, so you’re no Lilia.”

“So you have no objection to everything else?”

“For these patties, I’d agree to almost anything.”

“All right, Vaughn. You delivered the compliment. Enjoy your dinner. There’ll be seconds.”

“You divine being.”

“The question is—what kind?”

They ate in companionable silence. The cat sat nearby, with its bowl.

“I said no to the neighbor because he was clearly hitting on me.”

“Well, I might have done the same.”

“And your friend wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t ask.” Elliot frowned, remembering the fight with Julian over nothing. “Probably would mind. I would.”

“Obviously. You’re the jealous, possessive type.”

“If listen to you, I’m a monster.”

“No. You manage it well. But if you weren’t so jealous and greedy, you’d have introduced me to him by now.”

“I will introduce you. Especially now that you’ve moved closer.”

“Oh, closer indeed. You can’t dodge me anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s an opening on your university’s staff. Teaching Theories.”

“Are you joking?” he asked, salad fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

“No. I start tomorrow. Be glad it’s not your department.”

“That’s a surprise. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want to jinx it. There were other applicants.”

“And only you got it?”

“Imagine that. I’m just superstitious.”

She shrugged and kept eating.

“Superstitious and stubborn,” Elliot said, staring down at his plate and swirling the mashed potatoes with his fork. He hadn’t imagined Irene meeting Julian like this. Now it looked like he hadn’t introduced them on purpose. But he would.

“Like the IKEA stool. At least the instructions were clear. With you, there were only footnotes and citations. Sometimes comments. It’s easier to assemble a cabinet than to get a lawyer to help.”

“That’s unfair. I came to help.”

He relaxed a little and resumed eating. He’d talk to Julian before they met with Irene. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

“Anyway. This isn’t footnotes and citations. It’s my style. Timeless.”

“More like my patience can’t handle it.”

“I’m glad you’ve moved in. At least now you’re… nearer.”

“Yes. You can forget about me again and I’m still within walking distance.”

“Should be fun.”

“Vaughn, I’ll deny you dessert.”

“Dessert even exists?”

“It does, if you earn it.”

“What is dessert?”

“I tried making a Napoleon cake.”

“Luxury. Your department schedule leaves no room for luxuries.”

“Who would suffer for that?”

“Me, probably.”

“Exactly,” she said, pouring tea. “Honestly, who knows how this will go. I don’t want prejudice at work because I’m someone’s wife. I’m an expert in my work after all”

“You’ve always been more than ‘someone’s wife,’ Irene.”

“Tell that to your patriarchal department.”

“I will.”

“I’d pay to see that. You know what else?” She smiled.

“What?”

“I can’t wait to see what a headache we’ll be for the students. They’ll all be terrified trying to decide which Vaughn to turn in their assignments to.”

He smiled broadly, accepting the cake slice she set before him.