Everleigh had dyed her hair blue the day after she found out she was pregnant. Roman even helped her get the back because she kept missing spots and swearing at herself.

"I call it breakdown blue," she'd said.

Before Maverick reminded her she was in the medical field and probably needed to go back to a natural-passing colour. (Everleigh had replied, "I am a Nobel-fucking-Laureate, please let me bask in this for a second.") (Maverick stayed quiet after that—stepped back to let Roman do damage control.)

The appointment was the day after breakdown blue-mageddon. Like he said: Roman had connections. Being a counsellor meant sometimes emergency abortion services were required. It helped to know people. The doctor had questioned him pretty hard on why he was booking an abortion for his ex-sister-in-law. Saying it's complicated had only made her train of thought worse. Roman moved on. Self care was giving up on explaining himself because he would've probably told her every fact he knew about Florence if he got into his divorce. Her favourite flower are carnations but they have to be the deep red otherwise it's an orchid. And she'd probably reply, that's fantastic, Roman, but I've quite literally never met you, you god damn fucking idiot.

Maverick, because he was a genius by every antonym of the word, opened the door wearing likely the worst possible shirt he could've on that day. It was Everleigh's crop top he'd gifted her last Christmas. Not terrible because it was a crop top, terrible in that it read I Love Hot Moms across the chest. (Roman had been there when he'd bought it.) ("Stevie's bound to pop any day now," he'd said, "I think I'd get dumped if I didn't buy this.")

"You really couldn't have picked—"

"I need to do laundry."

Roman eyed the slice of half-eaten toast in Maverick's hand. "Are you eating what I think you're eating?"

"Roman—"

"Oh, you totally are." Roman wrinkled his nose. "I can't believe you've gone to the dark side. Do I only have Stevie on my team now?"

"We ran out of peanut butter." Maverick grimaced. "I refuse to eat dry toast."

"Dry toast is better than that," Roman said. "For the record. Beans are better than that. I'd quite literally rather eat Dewey's shit than eat Marmite."

"I think you're right." He made a face at his breakfast. Silently questioned his morals.

"I know I'm right."

Everleigh walked into the front hall wearing Maverick's sweatpants and a hoodie from his Resurgence tour with her new blue hair poking out from under the hood, gave Maverick a quick kiss on the cheek, and practically pushed Roman out the front door.

"What's your problem?" Roman asked once Maverick had closed the door.

"He's been doting all day," Everleigh said. "I hate it."

"Oh, wow," Roman said, "What a terrible man. Want me to go hit him?"

"Shut up."

"The perils of having someone love you, my God."

"I'm not complaining he loves me," Everleigh said, "I'm complaining that I can't get him to go away. This is worse than when he decided to fight everyone on Twitter who said that Midnights was a bad album."

Frankly, Roman had downloaded Twitter just for that. Maverick had gone viral for tweeting the very tasteful Only hot people like Midnights so if you don't, consider yourself ugly and the straight to the point reply to someone telling him he was wrong, fuck right off the face of the planet. His soulmate-in-arms Stevie had joined the circus with the classy if you don't like Midnights consider this: eat shit.

It was worth having the app for a week before deleting it.

"To be fair to Maverick," Roman said, "He did that, like, within your first year of dating and you've stayed with him for almost eight more."

"Mainly because I figured it couldn't get any worst than You're On Your Own, Kid blasting in the shower. Now it's Purple Rain and trying to be a caretaker."

"It can't be any worse than that family dinner where we met that one boyfriend of yours—"

"We don't speak of that."

(It had been the first time they'd met him—Roman couldn't even remember his name, but Everleigh was still fairly young. Maybe seventeen.) (They had come down for dinner when Dawn called and it took about six minutes for someone, if he remembered properly, it was Troy, to point out the "mayonnaise" in Everleigh's hair.) (Roman was convinced that was one of the leading reasons why, one, her and that boyfriend had broken up, and two, Everleigh had cut her hair and never grown it out since.)

Roman shuddered at the memory. He'd nearly choked on his dinner that night at the expressions on Everleigh and the boyfriend's faces. "Well. It's gonna suck when you're feeling like your tongue's coming out of your ass and your stomach's coming out of your mouth and all he wants is to help you because you'll need it."

"Joke's on you," Everleigh said, "I'm getting sedated. You have to deal with me when I wake up."

"Wait. You can do that?"

"You can get sedated for so many things." Everleigh laughed. "It's something to look into."

"Should've done that for my marriage."

Everleigh punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow."

"She's still my sister."

"I'm going to bunk with Maverick and kick you out."

"I'm going to be spotting for at least a week, so you can go right the hell ahead. I still need to get used to wearing pads again."

"That was too much information, Leigh."

"Just wait until I've had my anaesthesia."

*

It was strange, sitting in the lobby of the women's clinic. He wasn't sure if he was allowed in at first, but Everleigh had blurted out that he was the father before anyone could question her choice of driver.

If Roman thought the Christmas market with Troy was bad, being pulled into Everleigh's charade made him want to apply to NASA purely so he could step out of the rocket ship and let space blow him up from lack of oxygen. (If he ever told Everleigh that, she'd probably cringe not from the wanting to off himself part, but more on the he was probably scientifically inaccurate in too many parts of that threat on his life and she'd feel the need to correct him on every one.) (Maybe that would make him want to suffer a painful death even more.)

The look she'd given him was apologetic, so he tried to let it slide off. Couldn't be awkward if he didn't make it awkward. Would be awkward if any singular person recognized her as either Dr. Meadowlark, Nobel prize winner, or EGOT-recipient Maverick's girlfriend. Or both. Roman kept his head down for the most part, read a couple stupid gossip magazines from one of the tables while Everleigh had the procedure done.

(Part of him wanted to text Brendon a picture of the 2030's Hottest DILFs article he was a part of.) (The other part of him knew that one, he'd probably hate it, and two, Stevie had definitely already stuck it to their fridge.)

It took less time than Roman thought it would for him to hear that his girlfriend (ew) was just waiting a few minutes to make sure that there were no ill-effects from the anaesthesia.

It took even less time for those few minutes to pass and for Roman to hear, "I feel like my stomach's about to fall out of my assssss," from down the hall, followed by a loud giggle.

Everleigh was never one to stay quiet when she was drunk, or, evidently, when she was still feeling the effects of anaesthesia.

"Oh my God," Roman muttered as he dropped the magazine back on the table.

"That's my driver!" Everleigh pointed to him. A big, stupid grin on her face. She tried to whisper to the nurse, but announced to the entire room, "He's my sister's ex-husband. Hi!"

The slew of dirty looks thrown his way were enough to make him spring from his chair, thank the nurses, and contemplate pushing Everleigh down the fire escape. She wobbled on her feet, each step like she was walking on the moon and not the snow-covered path to the parking lot. Roman tried hard not to comment that her leaning against him was going to take them both down—not in a she was heavy sense, which was likely where her brain would take her, more in he didn't wear great shoes and she was walking like she was on anti-gravity. Even worse, she was singing.

Well.

Not really singing.

More mumbling to herself in words that definitely strung together into one of Maverick's songs.

"Leigh."

"Wanted to be Will and Liz as we cheered mimosas..."

"Everleigh."

"Thank you for the nights when we didn't sleep..."

"This song's not even about you."

"When we'd stay up and drive 'round in your Jeep..."

"Everleigh Jane, shut the fuck up," Roman said. "Jesus Christ."

Everleigh stared at him.

Oh, man.

He knew that look. He'd raised three of those looks.

(That realization hurt.) (Everleigh looked like Florence, and his kids looked like Florence.) (Which meant all five of them had the same pre-crying face.)

"No, no, no, it's fine."

"Are you mad at me?" Everleigh croaked.

"Everleigh."

"Why'd you yell?"

"Please get in the car." Roman opened the passenger side door for her. If he waited for her to do it, he was certain they'd be waiting all day.

"Why'd you yell?"

"I didn't," Roman said. "I'm... I don't like that song."

That was stupid. He loved that song. It was a good song. He liked that song before Maverick was in their lives permanently and not a shooting star passing through the night's sky right when it felt like all hope had been lost.

"You're wrong."

Roman shrugged. "Probably."

"You're not allowed to dislike any of Kingston's songs." Everleigh crossed her arms.

"Okay."

"That's my husband."

"Sure. Can you get in the car?"

"I mean it."

"Whatever, Leigh."

"Roman."

"What?"

"I mean it."

"Okay, I won't dislike his songs. Whatever. Sit down."

"That's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

"Husband."

"Huh?"

Everleigh looked like she was going to cry again. "Mum and pa are going to be so mad at me."

Considering Everleigh was clearly still coming off her anesthesia, it was up to Roman to put together the pieces of her puzzled words. Form a full thought from fragments.

"Wait."

"Oh, God," Everleigh said. "You didn't want me to tell you."

"No, it's okay that you told me," Roman said. "It's fine."

"Oh, I messed up." Tears fell down Everleigh's cheeks quickly. She looked like she'd barely registered it was happening. She might've been too numb. "I wanted to tell you properly."

"It's okay, it's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"You and Maverick got married?"

Everleigh nodded. "In Melbourne."

"Last year?"

"Mhmm." Everleigh started picking at the tape on the back of her hand.

Roman swatted her to get her to stop. "Everleigh I don't believe in marriage Meadowlark?"

"I believe in Kingston."

"That was stupidly romantic," Roman said, "Get in the car. I need to throw up."

Everleigh did so, Roman helped her put her seatbelt on. She pretended she didn't wipe her eyes on her sleeve while Roman walked around the car. He buckled in without a word, started the car. Silently dug into the compartment between their seats and handed her a few napkins from cookies he'd bought at 24-hour McDonalds drive thru's in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.

It took four minutes for Everleigh to speak again—he'd watched the digital clock on the dash. Nervously.

"Can you please say something?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're not mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Why didn't you say that before?"

"I didn't think it was needed."

Everleigh sniffled loudly. "It was needed."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Not telling you."

"If I got upset with people over everything they didn't tell me," Roman said, "I would be so phenomenally angry all the time that I wouldn't feel any other emotion."

"I do feel that way."

"Feel like you cut that off there."

"Except with him." Everleigh made a face that looked like she wanted to puke at the admittance. That was how she showed her love. She pushed her blue bangs out of her eyes, tucking the soft hair behind her ear.

The disgusted expression wasn't enough to hide her feelings, really. Especially with her hair as short as it was. When Maverick had told her he was getting cochlear implant surgery, all it took was for him saying he was nervous for her to book a tattoo appointment for herself. It wasn't exactly the same, but her tattoo of a cochlear implant was enough to ease his nerves a little. Then they were matching. Roman could just make out a few of the lines through the thin hair; ever since she'd gotten it done she'd gotten it shorter than she used to on the sides and back, but not bald. Probably about a three. (Everleigh told Roman she'd smack him if he repeated it to Maverick, but that head tattoo was, reportedly, the "worst fucking pain" she'd ever been in.) (Part of him wanted to ask her how that compared to the abortion, the other part of him wanted to keep his testicles where they currently resided on his body.)

"There it is." Roman pressed his lips together. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown.

"Sorry."

"Just because my marriage failed doesn't mean that yours is making me upset."

Everleigh looked at her hands. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Are you even going to remember me telling you?"

Everleigh snorted. "Probably not."

Roman sighed. "Truth is, I don't really know."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You got divorced..."

"Ten months ago."

Everleigh's eyes bugged a little. She might've been a little more subtle if she hadn't been on medication. "You signed divorce papers when she didn't even tell you why she was divorcing you?"

"It's embarrassing what I would do to make your sister happy."

"You make her happy, you bloody fuckin'—"

"Clearly not now."

"Have you decided how you're going to tell my parents?"

"Haven't even written my assisted suicide note, truthfully."

"Roman." Everleigh's voice was low. Like a child begging their parent for something. Sometimes he forgot how much younger than him she was. Sometimes he forgot he was someone who probably set examples for her when she was younger. That was deliciously embarrassing.

"Yes?"

"Do you still love her?"

Roman swallowed hard. Sucked in his cheeks so he could bite them as hard as possible. Almost ran into the car in front of him but sent their seatbelts into their skin as they lurched forward with how hard he hit the brakes. The worst thing was he couldn't tell if it was accidental or purposeful—what he did know was his arm was in front of Everleigh. He quickly placed it back on the wheel.

"Roman." Still the small little kid voice. Close to breaking. Everleigh pulled the seatbelt away from her chest, adjusted it a little. Rubbed her collarbone.

"Everleigh."

"I asked you a question."

"I've loved your sister since quite literally the second I laid eyes on her."

"Is that a yes?"

Roman sighed. "You're really high, aren't you?"

"Worse than the time I was actually high."

"You've actually been high?"

"What other reason was there to move to Ontario?"

"Mav's family."

"He uses a pen for his panic disorder. Helps him calm down. He thought it would help me calm down, too."

"And?"

"And you're avoiding the question."

"So are you."

"I haven't been high since," Everleigh said. "Because I cried that one day the dog was going to die even though he was three at the time."

"Jesus."

"Your turn."

"Obviously."

"Obviously you're still in love with her?"

Roman scowled at her. "What do you want me to do? Call her and tell her?"

In his line of work, there were a few clients he had who saw him for addiction purposes. Even fewer saw him while actively on the substance they were addicted to. Even with that miniscule number, Roman should've known a thousand times better than to be sarcastic around Everleigh.

The phone ringing on speaker just out of reach while he was driving made him want to drive the car over Tower Bridge and drown both of them.

"Hello?" Even on... well, whatever terms they were on at any given moment, Florence's voice was like honey in tea. Paired beautifully with everything she did.

Everleigh swatted Roman when he didn't say anything. Which also made him want to kill them both.

"Um. Hi."

"Roman?"

Roman laughed nervously. "Yeah?"

"Is Leigh there?"

Roman glared at Everleigh, who glared right back. He swatted her in the shoulder, she swatted him back.

One particularly hard backhand to her forehead made her answer. "Hi, Flo."

"Hi."

"Um. What's up?" Everleigh asked.

"You called me, you twit."

"Roman wanted to talk to you."

Smack.

"What are you two doing?"

"Driving."

"Calling you."

"Why did you want to talk to me?"

"I didn—"

"He had something he wanted to tell you."

"Everleigh."

"Roman?" Florence asked.

And like that, he could float away.

"Um. Wanted to know if you wanted a coffee. Or something."

"And you called for that?"

"Leigh's a little high." Roman shrugged. He had told Florence he was taking Everleigh to an appointment, that was it. It was Everleigh's choice who she told the specificities to.

"Am not."

"Okay."

"Sorry," Roman said. "I hope you weren't busy."

"Mav and I are in the middle of a movie."

"Why are you stealing my—"

"Hey!" Roman said. Last thing he needed was Everleigh crying again that she spilled the beans. "What movie?"

"A Christmas movie the girls really wanted to watch. They said you recommended it."

"It's called Arthur Christmas, Flo," Everleigh said indignantly. "It's Kingston's second favourite Christmas movie and it's age-appropriate."

"It's definitely a choice."

"If you're not nicer about it, I'm showing them Black Christmas. Or Krampus."

"Do you want a coffee?" Roman asked. Before they could commit verbal homicide.

"Sure," Florence said, "Double—"

"Double shot dirty chai latte with half oat milk, half soy milk, and cinnamon powder on top," Roman said. Like it was written on the back of his hand. Or tattooed on him. Maybe that's what his first tattoo should've been, rather than his kids names on his ribs surrounded by the floral henna pattern his mom always had on her hands. But like those names and that tribute, Florence's drink order would never leave his brain, or his heart. "I know."

"Thanks." If he was hallucinating, he never wanted to be put on anti-psychotics. He could hear the smile in her voice from polar opposite ends of the world.

"Does Mav want anything?"

Everleigh swatted Roman. "I know what he wants."

Roman assumed Florence gave the phone to Maverick to repeat his own drink order.

"It's a—" Everleigh started.

"Could I please have a—" Maverick started, at the same time.

They spoke like they were one person—proving Roman's almost decade-ago hypothesis that they were, absolutely, two halves of the same idiot.

"Peppermint white mocha, half sweet, with no chocolate curls, but red and green sprinkles instead, a little bit of cocoa powder on top, and extra whip." (Roman's diabetes was upset with him just hearing Maverick's drink order.) (At least Maverick had gotten Everleigh to stop saying squirty cream. Roman had failed to do the same with Florence.)

Maverick was clearly grinning too. Like a lovesick idiot. "She's got it."

"I've got it." Everleigh looked like she wanted to video call him just so she could roll her eyes at him.

"I love you."

"Can you hand the phone back to my sister, please?"

"You're supposed to say—"

"I love you too, you spoon. Shut up."

"Good, I'm glad."

"Don't be a plonker."

"How are you feeling—"

"Kingston John—"

Maverick clearly knew better than to argue with her, and Florence picked up the phone again.

"What do you need?"

"Um." Roman stared at Everleigh. Begged her not to make him do it.

Everleigh was always going to be the one to call his bluff. Always. She stared back at him expectantly.

"That's all," Roman said. "Um. Love you."

"Love you, too."

"Huh?"

Everleigh hit him. If she could remember Florence was trying to keep up appearances, the least he could do was remember the same. Fuck almighty.

"I mean. See you soon."

"Toodles."

Everleigh pocketed her phone. "That was awful."

"That was your fault."

"I cannot be faulted for anything that happened there, I'm on drugs."

"Pretty sure that doesn't remove blame."

"Can we go for ice cream?"

Roman rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

*

For as long as he'd known her, Everleigh Meadowlark was absolutely a mint chocolate chip kind of bitch. Being on anaesthesia didn't change that. Roman was, and Florence always told him he was crazy for it, the kind of guy who wanted to wait it out and see which flavour he felt like when he got there. Never loyal to one kind. (Though, that had been how he'd ended up losing a bet and eating wasabi gelato the one time Esmé had hosted Christmas in Vancouver.) (Maverick had lost, too, and ended up trying balsamic vinegar and garlic gelato that he nearly puked on the sidewalk outside.) (The chocolate Jack Daniels one was phenomenal, though.)

Because Everleigh was still a little wobbly on her feet, Roman went in to get the scoops and came back to the care, so they could freeze their asses off while they ate ice cream at, arguably, the worst time of the year to eat ice cream because London was cold as shit.

"You know," Roman said, having long finished his sugar-free ice cream. He was waiting for Everleigh to finish so his kids didn't get mad at him for not buying them a scoop. "I always thought it was a metaphor in melbourne diaries."

Everleigh smiled. "So did everyone else."

"I mean." Roman shook his head. Laughed a little. "Warm October night / you're dressed in white / I do believe / this is forever / I do believe / we're stuck together."

After a contemplative near-final bite of ice cream, Everleigh brushed a small portion of her bangs behind her ear. "Said I do to the entire world and nobody was the wiser."

"I get why Stevie screamed so loudly on Instagram about the song, now."

"You should've seen her cry when Kingston played it acoustically over video call the night he wrote it."

"Was it the same night you got married?"

"About four o'clock the next morning," Everleigh said, "I was still drunk when he did it, but I think I was on the couch beside him. Feel like he made me because he was waking her up so early; I definitely remember she told him that's one night of babysitting he owes her for doing so."

"Has she cashed in yet?"

"I think you need to recognize that Kingston would quite literally do anything for Stevie," Everleigh said. "Even if he didn't owe her a favour, he would get on a plane within an hour's notice to babysit if she needed him to."

Roman smiled softly. Considered the thought. He was still trying to process everything he'd learned in the last half hour. But, like everything between Everleigh and Maverick, there was little to think about. They just worked. In simplest terms. "So it's... Doctor Everleigh Jane Maverick now? Kind of has a nice ring to it."

Everleigh shook her head and balled up her napkin in her hand once she was done her cone. "Not quite."

"You didn't change your name?" That wasn't shocking, Florence hadn't, either. There was something about the glint in Everleigh's eyes that said a but was coming. There wasn't a but when it came to Florence—it was just that neither of them wanted to hyphenate, Florence Sahota sounded stupid, and Roman Meadowlark sounded like a porn star.

"I didn't change my name."

Roman's eyes widened. "Oh, no way."

"Now he's really got a stage name." Everleigh nodded.

"Kingston Meadowlark?"

"Kingston John Meadowlark."

"That really shouldn't work as well as it does."

"He's a poet," Everleigh said. "He makes everything work. I mean, he filmed a fuckin' music video on his phone in a week during our trip and won a Grammy for it."

"Doesn't take much to show someone you love them."

"You tell mum and pa, I'll end you."

"My lips are sealed."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

"You can't even tell Flo. She's a snitch. Has been since we were kids."

"I've snitched on you more times than Florence has, Leigh." Roman shrugged. "I won't this time."

"I'll surgically remove your—"

"I won't, Leigh."

"Good."

*

After giving Maverick back his custody of Everleigh—"Babes, you got a new tattoo?" "Like it?" (It was a sunset. The sun will never go down on you, Kingston Maverick. "Roman, he got a new tattoo." "Think that means she likes it, Mav."—Roman headed to home, quote unquote, with Florence and the girls. And that was also after the stressful endeavor of trying to walk Everleigh to the front door while doing his best not to spill an unbalanced four cup tray with five cups in it.

"Why were you at Mav and Leigh's?" Roman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Florence chuckled. "He was bored. And that was after the impulsive tattoo."

"And hanging out with his nieces seemed like more fun than the dog?"

"Technically Mav and I were hanging out, the girls were hanging out with the dog."

Roman laughed, looked in the rear-view mirror. And the children were nestled all snug in their car seats. Or so the story went. Maybe all three of them were pretending that they were asleep so Florence and him would carry them in the house. It worked every time. "Clearly they had a good time."

"Can I say something to you?" Florence asked. "And I mean it as surface level as possible."

"Um." Roman felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten. "Sure."

"Thank you for being exactly who I needed you to be when it comes to Everleigh," Florence said. "I know that she can be a pain in the ass. And I know that she liked to give you shit for..."

"Everything?"

"Everything," Florence conceded. "But... well, I don't know what you drove her to today, and I don't need to know. But Mav said she only wanted you to drive her. That's important to me. No matter what our status is together. So. Thank you."

How the hell was he meant to respond to that if he wasn't allowed to say I love you any more?

"It's not a big deal." Roman shook his head. "It's my pleasure."

"Roman."

"It's not, Flo. I'd do it for anyone. I've done it for clients."

"It's a big deal to me."

"Well. It's..." Roman looked over at her.

Florence always had the nicest eyes. They were blue but changed shades depending on the light. On a day with fluffy, fresh fallen snow, her eyes were the colour of the sky. At night, with the light of their old bedside lamp, they were blue, almost grey. Eye of the hurricane.

Roman barely realized he reached out to tuck her soft hair behind her ear. It was instinct. "You're welcome."

"Is she feeling okay?"

The moment Everleigh had gotten home, after fawning over Maverick's impulsive tattoo, she took Maverick's hand, thanked Roman for driving her, wished everyone a good day, and said she was taking a nap. Given the iron grip on Maverick's hand it was clear she had also decided that he was going to be her pillow while the anaesthesia wore off completely. He didn't look too upset. By the time they had gotten the girls in their car seats and buckled their own belts, Maverick had texted them a photo of Everleigh fast asleep on his chest with a small Thank you again message.

"I think she's doing better now that the appointment's over."

"I'm glad." Florence took a small sip of her drink. "I'm happy she came here for Christmas. It'd be a gong show without her."

"Sometimes it's a gong show with her."

"There was a lot going on last year," Florence said. "I don't blame her. If it happens again this year, I want to make sure I help her. I felt bad that she left by herself last year. I just... didn't realize what was happening until it was too late."

"I don't think she blames you. And you shouldn't blame yourself."

Florence sighed softly. "I guess so."

"Flo."

"You don't have to diagnose—"

"I'm not diagnosing," Roman said.

"You are. You always are. Whether you think you are or not."

"Sorry."

"No, it's..." Florence scratched her forehead. "It's fine."

"All I was going to say was that sometimes it's up to Everleigh to fix her own messes. You don't always have to."

"Feels like I do. I'm her sister."

"She's an adult."

"That why you drove her to an appointment today?"

"That was different."

Florence looked out the window. "That was mean. I'm sorry."

"You've been meaner."

Florence looked at him again. From the light shining on the black interior, her eyes were closer to their stormy grey.

"Never mind." Roman waved his hand. "Water under the bridge."

Florence kept her gaze on him before looking back ahead. "Thank you again for taking care of her. It's always meant the world to me how good you are with her. I never said that enough when we were together."

"My pleasure."