The kettle took three minutes.

She knew this because she had stood at this stove enough times to know the particular and specific patience it required, the way it built slowly, the small sounds it made before the larger ones, the particular rhythm of a thing doing what it was made to do without being hurried. She stood with her back to the room and her hands on the counter's edge and listened to it begin.

Julian was behind her.

She knew this without turning. She had learned the specific and particular weight of him in a room, the way the air organized itself differently when he was in it,...