Saturday had a different quality in Liam's house.
The weekday version of the space was purposeful—the staff moving through it with the particular efficiency of people who understood that their employer's time was the primary currency of the household. But on Saturdays the house settled into something closer to its actual size. The rooms were simply rooms. The quiet was simply quiet.
Liam had been in it since seven. He had made coffee, read through two reports he had been putting off, and then sat on the couch with the reports closed on the table in front of him and the television on at a volume that was more texture than content. He had been sitting there for approximately forty minutes when the doorbell rang.
He opened the door.
Rebecca stood on the step with two grocery bags, one in each hand, her dark hair down, dressed with the easy, unhurried elegance of someone who had made no particular effort and still managed to look like she had.
"Becca—"
"Take these first," she said.
