“God, these things are always so messy.” Stef slid the platter of meat toward Ben.

“Life is messy.” Evan pierced a bloody piece of meat. “People walk out in the street and get hit by buses. People get blown up by terrorists in their own office buildings. People crash their motorcycles and end up paralyzed.” Stef and Ben looked at each other and then at Evan, who was attacking his slice of roast.

“What?” Evan asked, chewing furiously.

Ben leaned back in his chair. “Well, what if we set some…ground rules?”

“Like what?” Stef chewed thoughtfully.

“Whatever makes us the most comfortable, I guess.” Ben shrugged. “Or maybe just ruling out the things that make us uncomfortable?” Stef made a face. “Sounds so clinical.”

“For now,” Ben replied, his dark eyes piercing hers. “This is just the preliminaries.”

“You know what I want,” Evan said. “What I really want is for you to give Stef something I obviously can’t.”

“Evan-” Stef frowned.

“Ben, listen,” Evan went on, as if she weren’t there. “I think we already know the ground rules. I talked to you about this before. You pretty much know how I feel.”

Ben nodded.

“And Stef knows how I feel. And I know how Stef feels-even if she says she doesn’t.”

She fingered the edge of the tablecloth, not looking at either of them.

Ben frowned. “I don’t want to do this if she doesn’t want to, though, Ev.”

“She does,” he insisted. “Don’t you, baby?”

Stef bit her lip, looking first to her husband, and next to Ben. Then she picked up her glass of wine, nodding slowly. “Yes.”

“I guess that settles it.” Ben let out a pent-up breath.

Stef stood, taking her plate to the sink. She stayed there, loading the dishwasher, while the conversation turned once again to the two men’s work.

Evan watched his wife as she stooped to load the plates and glasses, the shimmery green dress sliding over her curves. He noticed Ben watching her, too.