12 hours a day, six days a week, that’s how intense Grace’s schedule got over time.She came home tonight, earlier than usual. That is, a quarter past 9.“Hey,” Grace said in a tired huff, closing the front door behind her.William had dinner waiting. He had gotten good at timing it. Chicken piccata tonight, because she mentioned craving something with lemon to cut through the bland food she’d been having to eat lately.“Smells good,” she said, as she came in and dropped her bag on the couch. It was stuffed with script revisions and protein bars.After they kissed, he told her, “Eat while it’s hot.”Grace sat. She even picked up her fork. But her phone stayed on the table beside her plate, screen-up, and William watched her eyes flick to it every few seconds, pulled by some gravitational force stronger than hunger or exhaustion or the man sitting across from her who spent forty-five minutes mak
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