[ In her minutes of silence, unable to see her face, he’d wondered if he said something wrong, and narrowed down to his last sentence as the likely culprit—that or his lack of concern coming across as flippant, perhaps that’s it—and started thinking through an apology, something gentle and concerned that doesn’t have anything to do with him going off to see Byerly without her—

But then she’s back, and he’s relieved, and he makes a doubtful little humming noise at spectacle and offers her that metaphorical fistful of flowers off the shelf. ]

You know, I think it would be stranger if we could do something like that without a hitch. Can you imagine— [ with all warmth and affection ] —how Byerly would behave if you invited your husband up for breakfast?