Page 88 of Friends with Benefits

“I have a project to wrap before Sadie is back from Sundance.”

“When’s she back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ev.”

“I know.” She bites her lip, then smirks. “I need to stop letting my husband distract me.”

Theo swallows.

Hard.

Evelyn’s eyes sparkle with amusement as they meet his. “Your face, Theodore. Don’t worry. I’m going to crush this assignment and we’ll be heading toward divorce faster than you can sayirreconcilable differences.”

“Right.” Theo nods, ignoring whatever that word—divorce—is making him feel. “What’s the project?”

“It’s just, like, a two-minute sequence from some kid’s show.Sarabeth & Jack vs. the Universe?”

“Wait. Seriously?”

“You know it?”

Theo may or may not have shed a tear over a season two arc involving Jack’s relationship with his dad. “My students love that show. And the graphic novels.”

Evelyn pops a blueberry into her mouth. “Want to come with me?”

“Really?”

She nods. “We can record the session for your class.”

“That feels like an NDA violation.”

“Definitely. But I don’t see the harm if you show it to them after the episode airs? I’m pretty sure you need all the cool points you can get, Mr. Theodore.”

She’s not wrong.

Evelyn pushes off the counter with her hands to stand, then pours two bowls of Cheerios. Mixes in the blueberries, then adds the milk. Skim for him, almond for her. A blueberry careens past his face every time he tries to distract her and it’s all so domestic. They may have stopped wearing rings, but they’re still pretending. After breakfast, Evelyn playfully bumps his hip on the way to her bedroom. Returns with pants on. A tragedy. She’s dressed like she’s about to spend the day at Miss Stella’s—black yoga pants that flare out at the ankles, an olive-green tank top over a sports bra, an oversize cream cardiganlayered on top. Her hair is half back in one of those claw clips that attempt to impale his feet at least once a week.

She plucks her keys off the counter. “So. Are you coming?”

Theo should lesson plan.

Spend his day off working.

But.

He just wants to be wherever she is. A thirty-minute commute later, Theo enters the Foley stage behind Evelyn, unprepared for the sensory overload when she flips the lights. The space is a cross between a hardware store and a costume shop. He walks on wood, bricks, tile, concrete. Passes various other surfaces—a sandpit, gravel, leaves, carpet. An empty bathtub. Bins of shoes. Rolls of fabric. So many textures. Barrels. Brooms. Hats. A… bike? Pots and pans and bowling balls and chairs and a bowl of lemons and—

“I know,” she says, reading his mind. “It’s organized chaos.”

Evelyn leads him to the mixing room, a space that is empty—muted—in comparison, with windows that look into the studio and two side-by-side desks. Hers has a pink electric blanket draped over the chair, two succulents on the desk, a Post-it note that reads,I’ll know what an anthropomorphic chicken sounds like when I hear it, and photos taped on the wall next to her laptop. Duplicates of a few on their bookshelves at home, like Evelyn in Pep’s recording studio. But also some new-to-him photos. A selfie of Evelyn and Gen at theGingerpremiere. Another throwback to their dance life, Theo cheesing at the camera and Evelyn cheesing athim, both holding a medal he doesn’t even remember receiving. His eyes focus on the pink blur in the top right corner of that photo. It almost looks like a smudge. It’s pink nail polish. His mom’s signature color.

“She was an awful photographer.”

Theo laughs. “The actual worst.”

“I’m kind of glad now.”

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