“Do you like working with Wilma?” he finally asks, keeping his eyes steady, nothing in his voice betraying what he might be thinking. I sigh, somehow disappointed in his question, but I don’t know why.  

“I guess. It’s not as challenging as working for you, though. Feels more like a vacation.” I giggle as he tries to squeeze my leg in punishment, once again, the atmosphere reverting to old. I bat his hand away, realizing painfully we forget ourselves again so easily. He ...