Dinner outside was just as cold as I thought it would be, but it was very entertaining to watch Melody and Paul discuss marriage and their plans for a house. Paul is discussing his ideal kitchen when Melody takes the conversation in a direction even I never saw coming.

"Paul, you don't get to pick the kitchen if you don't cook!" Her face is practically a cherry but she somehow calmly turns to Christopher and compliments his cooking this evening.

"What was that about?" I asked when there was a break in the conversation.

"What was what?" Melody batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated slow-motion, so I know she is aware and being coy.

Two can play at that game. I narrow my eyes and tilt my head to the side, sliding my hand onto my hip and giving her what my own mother would call 'the mom face.' It is constantly lamented that I do not actually have any children, but that's a topic for another day.

She should have known by then that I was never going to lose a staring contest, but she tried it anyway. Eventually, she relents. "Okay, I've been trying to convince Paul to take cooking lessons but I'm having no success. So I figured if I just lure him in with a nice kitchen and hit him with a 'look, Christopher cooks,' I could maybe convince him to learn a dish or two."

"It's a wonder that man ever survived on his own, Melody."

"Well, he knows how to do most things but I swear all he eats are sandwiches."

The lights twinkling overhead were not quite bright enough to see, once the moon was hiding behind some clouds, and the misty air was cold against every exposed part of my skin.

"You girls want to head inside?" Christopher asked from across the yard. Is he reading my mind? No, surely he's just cold too.

Mel and I picked up our dishes and transferred the party through the door into the kitchen.

"You go on through to the living room," I said to Melody. "I'll grab us some hot chocolate and line up some entertainment. Just look around in the meantime."

And then I remembered who I was talking to. "And stay out of my underwear drawer!"

Melody's laugh rings out from what is almost certainly our stairwell. I knew it.

Christopher stepped into the kitchen and slid the door closed behind him. "Everything's all clean out there. Why don't you let me grab those dishes and you go spend some time with Melody."

"No, I can help."

"I know, but you haven't seen each other in forever. Go entertain her before she finds my underwear drawer."

I hadn't thought of that. Shit! "Melody!" I called, and bolted toward the living room.

"And don't forget you promised to put your books away!" Christopher called after me. "Take pity on my poor stubbed toes!"

I couldn't help but laugh as I tripped over one of my own boxes and made my way up the stairs to stop Melody from anything ridiculous.

"What's this?" she says when I round the corner into the upstairs room with the computer.

Oh. Shit.

"Mel, I can explain. I was just researching some things and..." Then I saw that the computer was not turned on. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"You have a desktop computer? What is this 1970?"

I was so relieved I almost forgot to answer, so Melody did it for me. "And we'll talk about that other thing later, but I think the boys would be missing us if we hashed that out now. Coffee this week?"

I nodded and took the out faster than I'd ever done anything before. And I'd run away from many a bully in grade school. "You're right. I have to go unpack my books in exchange for dinner."

"Your husband made you unpack your books in exchange for food? Aubrey that's--"

"I was the one who suggested it, actually. I mean, I suggested that he make dinner and he took the opportunity to ask that I unpack my books. They really are everywhere. He has a point."

I have no idea why I'm defending him. Maybe just because he's right.

Less than ten minutes later, we were all sitting in the living room: Christopher and Paul on the couch and Melody and I on the floor in front of my books. The boys asked if we wanted help but no one was surprised or upset when I stared at them like they had two heads. You think I'd let some randoms near my books?

"You always had too many books," Melody said as she surveyed the many piles in front of us. "So how do you want to organize? Genre? Author? Title?"

"Probably by author is easiest, because that's how they were on my shelf at home."

"Genre, it is!"

Almost twenty minutes later, she was still sorting my books into genre piles. Every time she moved a pile of books it got larger, even though I know books can't multiply.

"Are we calling Shakespeare one genre or should I be separating comedies and tragedies and histories. And, if so, what on earth is Richard III?"

Before I can answer, Christopher looks up from his phone, lips pulled into a sneer. "Travesty."

Melody stopped what she was doing and turned toward the couch like a robot controlled by a toddler. "Excuse me?"

The laugh finally escaped me as a sort of snort. "You heard him."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't. But only because he's your husband and you're my best friend."

Then I turned to Christopher and added, "Maybe you'd better go get that hot chocolate while she cools down."

I didn't need to tell them twice as Melody went on a rant about how beautiful Richard III was, the boys slipped out and made their way to the kitchen.

"But seriously, is Shakespeare one genre or not?" she asked when she finally finished.

"I don't know! Your genre system is so complex right now that I think I'd need several advanced degrees to figure it out."

"It wouldn't be this complicated if you didn't have as many books."

Now it's my turn to be aghast. "You're lucky I like you."

"Fine. Shakespeare is its own genre." She slid the books into a pile and stood as far back as she could, hands on her hips.

There were only five books not in her piles and she stared at them for far longer than I would have before finally deciding she could call them their own genre: 'defiant.'

"Time to shelve?" I asked when she didn't say anything further.

By way of answering me, she stepped toward the books and picked up the top few books off the largest pile. "Let's start with the sweet romances."

Melody and I were shelving the books in each genre alphabetically by author, discussing various things about her honeymoon and where she had moved now that she was married.

"So, Christopher is pretty cute and super nice. I like him," Melody said, shelving the Sci-Fi. "I know I said that before but we didn't get a chance to finish. Your parents picked well."

I opened my mouth to correct her but she interrupted me. "I know what you said, but whether it was an accident or not, they picked someone who seems pretty perfect for you."

"I guess." I went rogue and busied myself organizing the fantasy novels by colour.

"Don't think I didn't notice him giving you heart eyes all night and offering to do things for you and smiling about some secret between you when Paul brought up your adventurous nature."

The warmth seeps into my cheeks without warning. "Yeah, well, we just went on a date last night."

The books stopped clunking onto the shelf and I looked over to see Melody staring at me, book held midair, waiting for me to continue.

"We just went on an adventure to a random restaurant." I shrugged, trying to convince her -- and probably me -- that it wasn't a big deal.

She didn't buy it and I was bombarded with hundreds of questions about the night, culminating in my accidentally letting slip that I had spent the end of the evening wrapped in his coat watching the sun set.

"Awe," she coos. "See? I told you it would all work out. I cannot believe how cute you are together."

"Who's cute together?" Paul asked, coming back down the hallway. "Me and hot chocolate?"

"Yes," Melody said. "You and 'food I didn't cook' are very cute together."

I was just glad Melody's focus had shifted away from me.