I know I don’t need to check in so just saying hi. Hi, I typed.

His reply came less than a minute later. If you two aren’t naked yet I’m going to be so disappointed.

I laughed dryly as I typed back, Nope, definitely not naked. How’s my baby?

Perfect. Just waking up so I’m heating her bottle. Then tummy time and a movie.

You’re a lifesaver, I typed.

Tell me something I don’t know.

I looked at the full-length mirror in the ladies’ room and Max was right, it didn’t look bad at all. Satisfied, I left to go find my husband, typing out a response on the way. How will I ever repay you, George?

Bring me back something shiny.

I smiled. Done.

By shiny, you know I mean chorus boys wrapped in sparkling swim trunks, right?

Obviously.

His response appeared only a second later. This is why we’re friends.

We were led to our seats shortly after. With the way Max was looking at me from across the table—like nothing would please him more than to spread me out in front of all these people and have me for dinner—I hoped I’d be able to make it through the next two hours.

I opted for clam risotto with bacon and chives, and Max ordered a creamy fettuccine with asparagus. The waiter brought a bottle of pinot noir and held it out for Max’s inspection. Max smiled and then motioned for him to show it to me—which was ridiculous considering I barely drank—but my eyes widened in recognition. It was the same wine we’d had at the quiet dinner after our wedding at city hall. My husband was so getting laid tonight.

“Perfect,” I told him.

The waiter smiled and began to remove the cork. “It’s an amazing choice,” he said, wedging the bottle between his knees to get a better grip. He laughed nervously and jostled the opener, but it didn’t seem to want to budge. “Wow, it’s really stuck in there.”

“Maybe if I—” Max started to say, but the cork came out with a wet suction and both the waiter and Max eyed it dubiously. It was black with sludge.

“Oh,” both the waiter and I said in unison. Max looked like someone had just popped his balloon.

“This is a pretty bleak metaphor,” I joked, but Max’s expression told me he didn’t think it was remotely funny.

“I’m so sorry,” the waiter said, and looked around as if someone would be standing there to help him. “This bottle is clearly off. I’ll just go get you another.” He paused, and I knew right away that it wasn’t a good sign. “I just remembered, that was the last one.”

“No worries, mate,” Max said, glancing through the wine menu. “Happens to all of us. We’ll just have a bottle of the MacRostie instead.”

The wine had been poured, and I tore off a small piece of warm bread while we waited for our meal. “So how was Anna today?” I asked.

Max looked at me over the rim of his glass, mouth turned up in a teasing smirk. “I believe there was to be no baby discussion tonight, Mrs. Stella,” he said. “But since I relish the chance to talk about our daughter, I’ll tell you that she was perfect, as usual. Mum quite enjoys having her there. Not to mention Will, even if he does nothing more than sit and make ridiculous faces at her from across the table.”

As if on cue, my phone vibrated next to my plate and I glanced over as the screen lit up.

Your daughter is not impressed with Ryan Gosling. This is clearly your husband’s DNA. Attached was a photo of the two of them on the couch, Anna making a hilariously frowny face at the camera.

I showed Max and typed out a quick reply, before placing my phone—facedown—on the table.

Max reached for my hand and took it in his, rubbing his thumb over my wedding band. “It’s okay to look at your phone, you know. This is our first night out without her. It’s all right to feel a little anxious. I’m a little anxious.”

“You don’t look it,” I told him. “You never do. I swear you have a poker face like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know about that. Seems I couldn’t keep anything from you, now could I? Quite certain you knew I was ass over tits for you within a few days of meeting.”

“You played the rogue part pretty well, though. Even I—” My phone vibrated again and I bit back a groan.

It was more movie commentary from George, and honestly, if the accompanying pics weren’t so adorable and I didn’t love him so much for doing this for me, I’d probably offer to buy him a car to lose my number for the next forty-five minutes.