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detail which touched me.
    “You got the vice presidency, didn’t you?” he said with a grin.

    At last, someone who didn’t assume I’d had the VP gig forever. Apparently, that strange assumption was held only by the people at work.
    “I did!” I said. “I got it!”
    He pul ed me into a hug and swung me around. People were staring, but I didn’t care.
    “I knew it!” Chris said. “That’s why I got the champagne.”
    Our table wasn’t ready, so we settled onto bar stools and started on the champagne.
    “Here’s the thing,” I said to Chris. “Everyone at work was acting like I’d been a VP for a while.” I told him about how my stuff had suddenly appeared in my new office and how no one remembered when I’d actual y gotten the promotion.
    “They were putting you on,” Chris said.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Of course they were.”
    “It’s just that everything is different today.” Like you, I thought. But instead I told him about my mom and the postcard from Milan.
    “That’s great,” he said. “She needed a vacation.”
    “I know, but don’t you see? It al happened overnight, after I got that frog yesterday from Blinda.”
    “The frog?” Chris made a face that said, c’mon.
    “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.”
    “It just feels like that.” His eyes twinkled as he gazed at me. “I’m so proud of you.”
    Hearing that meant the world. “Thanks, sweetie.”
    He squeezed my knee. “I can’t wait to get out of here so I can get you into bed again.”
    I kissed his cheek, but then I had to ask. “Chris. Why today?”
    “Hmm? What do you mean?”
    “I mean, we’ve been having….” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “We’ve been having troubles. You’ve been distant, and I guess I have too, lately. So why today? Why did you want to fool around and talk in bed and get champagne for me?”
    He took a swal ow from his glass. “You’re my wife.”
    “I’ve been your wife for two years, and things haven’t been good.”
    Silence.
    “Was it something I did?” I said. “Is that why you’ve been so sweet to me today?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.” He looked confused for a second. It was like he’d known exactly what I’d meant at some point, but now he couldn’t find that memory in his head.
    “Or was it something I said?” I asked.
    “What does it matter?” He took the glass from my hand and drew me closer to him with one arm, looking in my eyes with an intensity that warmed me from the inside. To be back in his graces, to feel his devotion again, was irresistible. “Doesn’t it feel right between us?” he asked.
    “Of course.” I kissed him.
    “I love you, Treetop.”
    “You too, Marlowe.”
    A woman dressed in a stylish tuxedo jacket appeared at our side. “We can seat you now. Sorry for the wait.”
    “Ready?” Chris asked me. He stood up and held out his hand.
    I let the questions fal away then. I reached out and placed my hand in his.

chapter five
    T he next day, I left the office around 4:00 p.m. I walked the crowded streets of Michigan Avenue and made my way up the steps of the Art Institute. At the top, I stopped for my traditional pat of the stone lion on the left.
    I’d spent most of the last eight hours trying to pretend that my new job was exactly the way it had always been—everyone at work seemed to think so—but it was hard to keep up the facade when I had no idea what I was doing. Much to my chagrin, I found that budgeting was a big part of my new position as vice president. For each account I oversaw, I had to design the budget. When I was a mere account supervisor, I used to toss my hair and complain that I simply didn’t have enough money, but now that I was making decisions on how much to charge a client (and therefore how much money we had to work with), I realized how tricky it was. If you decided a client needed too large a budget, they might balk and take their business elsewhere, yet if you reduced it, you