They ate.
Halfway through, Claire asked, “Do you ever miss the hotel?”
June considered it.
“Sometimes.”
“What part?”
“The women.”
“Not the rooms?”
“Absolutely not.”
Ethan laughed.
June scraped the last bit of ice cream from her bowl.
Then looked toward the stairs.
“Take care of that quilt.”
Claire smiled.
“I do.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Ethan said, “It’s just a blanket.”
Both women turned toward him.
He raised his hands immediately.
“Joke.”
June pointed her spoon.
“Terrible joke.”
Claire shook her head.
“Read the room.”
Ethan smiled.
June did too.
Then Claire reached across the table and touched June’s hand.
Only for a second.
No speech.
No grand apology.
Just contact.
June turned her hand over and squeezed Claire’s fingers once.
The dishwasher started humming in the kitchen.
Outside, late snow tapped softly against the windows.
And upstairs, among all that cream and gray, the quilt stayed exactly where it belonged.
