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terrible space and lack of climate control, and the sorts of fixtures a new, state-of-the-art archive needed. New? State-of-the-art? Helen didn’t think she would ever hear those words coming out of Lou’s mouth, not seriously anyway. And yet here she was.
    Were they getting a new archives building? That would be amazing. No more finding errant historical documents behind old shelves.
    Which reminded her that she had R. Butcher’s Never You Mind tucked inside the cover of her calendar. She started back into the archive, but Lou gave her such a look that she turned around and walked back out.
    She would return R. Butcher later.

Chapter 9
    T he door was unlocked.
    As soon as he turned the knob, he heard the click-clack of doggie toenails on the hardwood floor. He poked his head through the door and shouted, “Hello?” and was greeted with George and Tammy’s strange bark-howl combination that meant “Hello, Henry, please give us treats.”
    â€œHenry?” came a voice from down the hall.
    â€œNo, it’s an ax murderer!”
    â€œOK, can you let the dogs out real quick?”
    â€œOK, but then I’m coming back to ax murder you!”
    Helen didn’t respond.
    He walked through the kitchen and let the dogs out into the fenced backyard. At first they wouldn’t leave his feet, but after a minute, the enticement of the grass was too much. Business done, George, Tammy, and Henry headed back inside in search of Helen.
    She was in her office, furiously typing on her laptop.
    â€œHey—” he started, but she held a finger up, then went back to typing. Henry stood in the doorway for a moment. Then he leaned on the doorjamb. Then he crossed his arms.
    â€œCan you go away for a second?” Helen asked without looking up from her screen.
    He should feel annoyed about the quick dismissal, but this was Helen. If she was mad at him, she would tell him. She’d promised.
    Nonplussed, he headed back to the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge.
    â€œGet me one too!” he heard from the office as the bottles clinked.
    â€œWhich one is it, go away or get you a beer?”
    Helen didn’t respond.
    Deciding that delivering the beer cold was more important than leaving her alone, he walked back to the office, dogs in tow. She was staring blankly at the ceiling, and she didn’t turn when he put the beer next to her. He started to say something, but before he could even take a proper breath, she made a weird “enh” sound and went back to furiously typing.
    She seemed to be over her writer’s block.
    Their plan was working.
    He took a seat in the soft chair across the room and grunted as Tammy tried her basset-hound best to jump onto his lap. She eventually settled for Henry idly petting her ears, and Henry settled in to watch Helen work.
    He’d always liked watching her concentrate. Helen was a total extrovert with the worst poker face he’d ever seen. She was always smiling and engaging with other people. When she engaged with herself, though, she was like a whole different person. She stuck her tongue out. She squinted her eyes. She twisted her hair into strange and wonderful positions and held it there with pencils. Her focus was a laser.
    Suddenly, she stopped typing and raised her hands in the air. “Yes!” she shouted, then turned to look at him. “It’s working!”
    â€œOur research?” he asked, just making sure.
    â€œMm-hmm.” She took a swig of her beer and came over to the chair where he sat. Without thinking, he moved his hands out of the way and she sat on his lap. “I just wrote a 1500-word make-out scene.”
    â€œThat’s a lot of making out.”
    â€œYeah. It might be too much. But better too much than too little, right?”
    â€œCan I read it?”
    â€œNot yet. Too first-draft-y. But soon.”
    He put his beer on the side table next to him and wrapped his arms around