Evan gulped the rest of his drink, then slipped behind me. He put a hand on my hip, a light hand, nothing insistent, but now our movements were perfectly in sync. I could feel that chest, those legs behind me, as if we were one person. “This is perfect,” he said in my ear. Again, that hot breath, that tingle down my spine.

He said something else, but the music became louder. I couldn’t make out his words. I could only feel the heat of his breath, his body behind mine. He muttered something else into my ear, and right then, I got the overwhelming urge to press my face into his. I tilted my cheek a fraction toward him. His mouth touched my jaw, his lips warm and soft on my skin. I began to turn into his lips, the air leaving my chest in one swoop. But I never reached them.

The music ended with a cymbal’s clash. The room went quiet for a second before the crowd broke into applause. It was that pocket of silence that broke the spell.

I took a step away, and clapped like crazy to hide how flustered I felt. Evan did the same. “Thank you,” I said to him, when the band left the stage. “This was amazing.”

And then, before he could say anything, I ran for the safety of a taxi.

I didn’t realize how sauced I was from the vodka until I was in my own kitchen, blinking at the half-light and feeling slightly stumbly. I didn’t want to go to bed yet. How could I climb under the sheets with my husband when I’d almost kissed another man a moment ago?

Food. That’s what I needed. Something to soak up the vodka, along with the memories of Evan’s body near mine. I opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents. Not a hell of a lot.

I picked up a lone pear and examined it. It looked a bit sad, and it certainly wouldn’t have the soaking-up properties I was searching for. As I bent lower to return it to the shelf, something touched my back.

“Oh!” I said, spinning around, crashing into the fridge.

And there was Chris. His hair was combed straight, and he wore a white button down shirt turned up at the cuffs. “Hi, Treetop,” he said.

“You scared me!”

He laughed. “That seems to be happening a lot this week.”

“What are you doing up?”

“Why don’t you come and see?”

Chris took my hand and led me away from the fridge. I heard it fall closed behind me with a muted thump. Meanwhile, my heart thumped faster inside my chest. Was he waiting up for me because he sensed what I’d almost done with Evan?

Chris led me into our living room. “What do you think?” he asked, his hand outstretched.

On the hardwood floor, he’d set up a picnic. A green flannel blanket was laid flat, and on top sat his grandmother’s silver candelabra with six lit candles. They were burned halfway down, and I wondered how long Chris had been waiting. Two cushions, taken from the couch, had been placed on the blanket along with a champagne bucket and plates of food.

“Oh, Chris,” I said. I felt a rush of awe. When we’d been dating, we used to have picnics frequently, both inside the house, as well as out. Tim and Tess made fun of us, calling us insufferable romantics, but it had become a tradition of sorts. A tradition that had fallen by the wayside since we were married.

“We haven’t had one in a while,” Chris said, “and I knew you’d be hungry.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because whenever you see Hello Dave with Evan, you’re always starving.”

I nodded, unable to say anything, unable to admit I was usually trying to fill myself with food to cover up the desire in my body.

“C’mon,” Chris said, pulling me down onto the blanket. He took the bottle of champagne from the bucket and poured me a foaming glass.

“I had a bit to drink at the show. I don’t know if I should have any more.”

“Who cares?” Chris said, his voice sounding more lighthearted than I’d heard in years.

I gave a little laugh and accepted the glass. “Right. Who cares?” I took a sip, the bubbles tickling my mouth.

Chris lifted a plate with toast squares, something dark on them. “Would you like caviar?”

“You got me caviar?” My guilt was replaced with gratitude and adoration. “Chris, you are so good to me.”

“You deserve it. And I got you this amazing cheese.” He picked up a small white piece and put it in my mouth. The texture was firm, but it had a creamy taste. “It’s Campo de Montalban,” he said.

“Delicious. You went to Pastoral?”

He nodded.

“After working all day?”

“I wanted to treat you.”

Chris took the champagne glass from my hand and placed it to the side. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I want to treat you with more than just the caviar.”

The feel of his words in my ear gave me a flash of Evan. “Chris…” I said, not sure what else I wanted to say. I almost kissed another man. I wanted to kiss another man. I am a horrible person, but I’d still like some more of that cheese.

“Don’t talk,” Chris said, and he began to kiss my neck.

“But…”

“Later.” His mouth moved down to my collarbone.

I sighed and let my thoughts swim away. I raised my arms and put them around my husband.

Late on Sunday morning, I curled up on my favorite chair, the one that had been at Chris’s apartment when I first met him. It was large enough to fit two people and made of a soft suedelike fabric with big, flat arms. One of those arms now held my morning Diet Coke, the other the Sunday papers.

Some people feel depressed on Sunday, with the work-week looming, but Sunday has always been my favorite day. The phone rarely rings, the streets outside our condo are quiet, and on this particular Sunday, a nearly-white May sun had pushed its way through the windows, streaking across the hardwood floor, making me feel like a fat, contented cat. Chris’s midnight picnic and the hour we’d spent rolling on the flannel blanket had satisfied me, made me languid.

Chris was still asleep, so I had the place to myself. I took another sip of my Diet Coke and began reading the papers. I came to an article about a British psychoanalyst who asserted that human beings had to learn to enjoy the things they normally disliked. I sipped my drink and thought about that a moment. I wondered if Blinda would agree. After all, it was she who told me to look inside for happiness, while I’d argued that the issue wasn’t being happy with what I had, but getting what I deserved. Somehow, some way, this last week I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, and I wasn’t about to pretend that I wasn’t glad for it. I wouldn’t pretend that I’d rather have tugged my reluctant psyche to a point where I was happy with the old me. I liked the new life. It was just the way it had happened that was so startling, so, well…mystical. My thoughts streaked to the green frog, who was, right now, sitting precociously on my nightstand.

The phone rang, surprisingly, taking me away from my musings. It was Tess.

“Shouldn’t you be at church?” I said. Tess wasn’t very religious herself, but she took her two kids to mass every Sunday. Puts the fear of God in them, she always said. And they need it, because they certainly aren’t scared of me.

“I made Tim take them,” she said. “I couldn’t handle it.”

“What’s up?”

She groaned. “I need a girl’s night. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Sure. Want me to come out there?” Tess lived in Wilmette, and it was usually me who made the drive when we got together.

“No, I need a night downtown. Tim will watch the kids.”

At seven o’clock, I kissed Chris and left him in front of the computer. I walked through Lincoln Park toward Mon Ami Gabi, the French café where Tess and I planned to meet. The sun was staying later now, the sky a soft, deepening powder blue. The May air was warm, with a fresh, thick breeze coming off the lake, promising summer, soon.

Tess was already at the restaurant, seated at a cozy table by the windows. She was a willowy blonde who wore little makeup and tucked her simple bob behind her ears. I pointed at the large bottle of San Pellegrino in front of her. Normally, a bottle of wine would have held that place on the table. “You’re not!” I said.