He moved the furniture.

I came downstairs Thursday evening to find the living room rearranged, sofa pushed back against the wall, coffee table moved aside, a clearing in the center of the rug that had never existed before. The lamps on their lowest setting. Candles lit, ivory tapers in holders I'd never seen, which meant he'd gone out and bought them specifically for tonight. And music already playing, low and unhurried, something orchestral and slightly old-fashioned that told you how to move without asking.

I stood in the doorway and didn't say anything.

He came out of the kitchen when he heard me. No jacket, sleeves rolled, the candlelight catching...