“Here, beautiful,” Arrick hands me a plate of pancakes in the kitchen. I have been wrapped around him all morning after we fell asleep on the floor watching the New York rain, and now I am reluctant to stop holding on to him, even when he was cooking. My face planted against his back and my hands wrapped around that hard-muscular abdomen of his made it difficult for him to get on with it, but he didn’t try and remove me. He missed me too.

It’s late, and he wants to go to the ...