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short weeks, and here she was, out with a man.
    Simon had greeted Nina in the restaurant’s sleek foyer. She felt something stir inside when his lips brushed against her cheek. He looked dashing in his tweed blazer, white oxford, and dark slacks, and Nina began to rethink her stance. It wasn’t as if she had a marriage to mourn. As it turned out, she’d had no marriage at all. If Nina denied herself, it was only to adhere to some unspoken social norm. And it wasn’t as if she had gone looking for Simon. He just happened. It was organic. In a weird way, it felt almost predestined.
    They exchanged pleasantries—“Hello,” “You look nice”—as he helped Nina with her coat. He thanked the hostess and before he took his seat, Simon pulled out a chair for Nina. She was glad to see chivalry wasn’t dead. In fact, Nina found herself fluttering a little at being treated like a lady, though she kept those feelings to herself.
    The first order of business was the wine. Simon barely glanced at the menu before he suggested a bottle of Thierry Puzelat, a red she had never tasted before.
    â€œIt’s organic, unfiltered, and bottled without any added sulfites,” Simon said.
    Nina was impressed. “Sounds perfect.”
    And it was. Nina always shopped organic when she could. She wasas careful about what she put into her children’s bodies as what went into her own.
    Simon smiled appreciatively. “Had a good hunch about what you might like.”
    â€œI’d say your hunch is very well informed.”
    Simon chuckled in response.
    The wine came while they were perusing the menu. Simon made sure Nina got the first sip, and it was in fact delicious. The waiter poured two glasses before taking their order. Nina asked for the Scottish organic salmon with savoy cabbage and truffle vinaigrette. Simon ordered steak frites with an arugula salad.
    â€œTell me how you’re doing with everything.” Simon leaned in. Nina answered as best she could, sharing her worries, fears, doubts, and concerns for a future clouded by the smoldering wreckage of her past.
    Simon had impressed Nina. He was so thoughtful and engaged, asking all the right questions; interested in her, but in a relaxed way. It didn’t feel like an inquisition or a romantic tryst, but more like two friends getting to know each other better, chatting with ease. It felt nice.
    â€œKids are hanging in there,” Nina said, answering one of Simon’s follow-up questions. “They’re trying to resume their lives, and I’m looking for therapists to help guide them, but it’s hard, as you can imagine.”
    The evening flowed as easily as the wine went down. It wasn’t until Nina got home, with only a friendly embrace and no kiss goodnight from Simon, that she realized how much she had dominated the conversation. They’d barely spoken of Simon’s life, his hardships. It wasn’t a big secret that Simon’s wife had committed suicide some five years before. Nina didn’t know how to broach the subject, and thought it best if he were the one to bring it up. But he never did. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe the wound was still too fresh. Or maybe Nina was too consumed with her own misfortunes to discuss those of another.
    She thought about this for much of the next day, wondering how toapologize for not encouraging Simon to speak about himself, when he showed up unexpectedly at the house with a toolbox in his hand.
    Nina’s breath caught, surprised at how good it felt to see him again.
    â€œI was in the neighborhood and remembered you had a loose and leaky faucet. I keep a toolbox in my car, and had the crazy idea to come by and fix it.” He swung his toolbox in the direction of the kitchen. Nina eyed him dubiously. She recalled the day Simon had brought over her favorite meal and she’d invited him in for dinner. He had fiddled with the faucet