Page 14 of Thresholds

She rubbed her belly as she considered my offer. "I'm good with sparkly gifts, Riley," she said. "I can pick out engagement rings and crystal vases. I'm not sure I can help you with homemadegoods."

I flattened my hands on her desk. "You're good with gifts that are thoughtful, meaningful, and perfect. You know how to make people feel special with the right present. I just want to make her feel special and I can't figure out how to do that bymyself."

She waved her hands in front of her face as she blinked. "Goddamn," she whispered. "You can't say things like that to me right now unless you want me crying all over the place." She yanked a tissue from the box and dabbed her eyes. "All right, fine. But I was serious aboutlunch."

"So was I," I replied, popping to my feet. "I'm a growingboy."

"Make her dinner,"Shannon suggested from behind her menu. "The whole deal. Flowers, candlelight, fourcourses."

"That's brilliant," I said. "All I need to do is find four complementary breakfast cereals for those courses because that's the extent of my cookingcapabilities."

She turned back to her menu. "Then cooking isout."

"Cooking is definitelyout."

The waiter arrived at our table, and Shannon fired off a barrage of questions about several different dishes. "Can you tell me how the bread is toasted?" she asked. "I hate when it's toasted on thegriddle."

Because I loved absurd explanations as much as the next guy, I asked, "And why isthat?"

"I don't like meat-flavored bread," she replied, as if it was a universal truth. "It tastes like everything that's been cooked on that griddle since the dawn of time. Bacon, cheese, eggs, onions, and—worst of all—meat. If I wanted my bread to taste like a cheeseburger with bacon and onions, I'd orderthat."

"It's toasted on the griddle," the server replied, the anguish obvious in hiswords.

Since she wasn't close to making a decision on her order, I zoned out while she fired off another round of cross-examination. I barely noticed when she finished. I was too busy growing old andweary.

"Make one of those cute little coupon books," she said after the waiter left the table. "You know what I mean. Back rubs, letting her choose the movie, that sort ofthing."

I reached for the salt and pepper shakers, sliding them from hand to hand. "I suppose that could work," I said with all the reluctance in the world. "But those things aren't gifts. They're not even examples of playful compromise. They just seem like the sort of thing you do when you've been married for six years and require some handwritten vouchers to tolerate eachother."

Shannon recoiled, her eyes widening. "You might be exaggerating abit."

"Thank you for the idea," I said with as much diplomacy as I could muster. "I'll revisit it ifneeded."

Shannon fired off more suggestions while we waited and between bites when our lunches arrived. A mason jar of date night ideas on little slips of paper. A drive to the Berkshires. An evening of pillow fort shenanigans. A tour of Cliff Walk mansions in Newport. A movies-and-staycation weekend in theapartment.

None of them worked. They all felt juvenile or unimpressive or uninspired. This gift had to check all the boxes—except the spendy and store-bought boxes—and communicate everything. But none of them were right, and I needed somethingright.

"Make her a comic book," Shannon said as we walked back to my car after eating. "You have all those drawings of her in your notebook, in that superhero costume you invented. Take that to the nextlevel."

"Yeah, I'd do that if I wanted to rip off Seth Cohen andThe O.C.circa 2003," I said with a scoff. "I'd like to think I'm better thanthat."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about right now," Shannon said as I helped her into the passenger seat. "You might be speaking intongues."

"Hilarious." I leaned against the open door, watching while she worked the seatbelt around her belly. "What's the next stop, BlackWidow?"

"There's a sandwich shop in Cohasset I've been thinking about all week." She gave me a sheepish glance. "If you don't mind driving down there, we can stop at one of the listings I'm considering, too. Would that beokay?"

"I've never declined a sandwich," I replied. "I can't see why I'd startnow."

We headed out of the city and into the glut of holiday weekend traffic, and I shifted our conversation to investment properties. We could agree on the basics there, and I knew her restoration ideas wouldn't include mason jars or a rant about meat-flavoredbread.

Walking the property didn't take much time. The structure was in rough shape, and Matt was going to enjoy taking it apart and putting it back together again. But it was a storybook stone cottage with an ocean view, and we'd make a killing on a thorough restoration. I didn't know how she did it, but Shannon could pick those diamonds right out of therough.

"We should get out of here," I said, knocking my boot against the foundation. The stone disintegrated on impact. "I can't feel my fingers or toes, this thing is a structural mess, and that path"—I pointed at the brick walkway near the front door where Shannon stood—"is uneven and getting icier by the minute. Do you have what youneed?"

"I'm all set," she replied. "Sandwiches?"

"Several of them," I replied, holding out my arm to her. "In case it's not obvious, I'm happy to drive you from one eatery to another any day of theweek."