sink, swearing quietly at the pipes. When he finally got it to stop, Ava and June applauded like he’d won the Super Bowl.
He’s not perfect. He forgets to call when he’s going to be late. He leaves sawdust everywhere. He hums when he reads, and he reads very slowly, and he refuses to skip ahead even when the book is boring.
He also finally read Jane Eyre. Because I told him once, in the back room of the library, that it was my favorite book and that my ex-husband had promised to read it and never did.
He read it in three weeks. Every night. A chapter at a time. Humming.
When he finished, he closed it and looked at me across my kitchen table.
“Reader,” he said, “I’m going to marry you someday.”
That’s a quote from the book. Sort of. Close enough.
I said, “Ask me properly,
