"We could find another place."
"In six weeks. In Manhattan. In winter. With our combined credit and my collection of emotionally significant cardboard boxes."
"We could leave the city," Gus offered, and both of them looked at him as if he had suggested relocating to the moon. He held up his hands. "I'm brainstorming. Brainstorming includes bad ideas. It's science."
Wren wrapped her hands around her mug. The charm bracelet ticked. "I got offered something," she said carefully. "Last week. I didn't mention it because I thought— I don't know what I thought."
Dez stopped pacing. "What something?"
"A senior design seat. At the magazine's West Coast office. Los Angeles. Starting March." She met his eyes and did not look away, which was brave of her. "I was going to turn it down."
The apartment seemed to inhale.
"Why?" Dez asked, though he was afraid of the answer and afraid of wanting a particular answer.