Sabrina speaks in concert with her thoughts as they cross from the hallway to the living room, an acknowledgement that eases the strange--but not unpleasant--flutter of nerves inside her. It was new, as new as their hesitant first date to the boardwalk, as new as all the times they've kissed since then, light and delicate and waiting for something more. Rosie thinks, perhaps, that something more has just arrived.

They sit on the couch, Rosie turning to pull the blanket from the back and shake it out, draping it over both their laps. "I don't mind it," she says, aware of the hush in her voice and the way she tilts toward Sabrina like a flower seeking the sun. "That it's new now. It feels like it ought to be, if we're making it ours."