I turned back to the file in front of me.
The Kenner Footwear campaign I had pitched to Mateo had been met with huge enthusiasm by the client, and I was still working up all the different concepts.
I rubbed my temple, wishing I could concentrate more.
When I spoke with him on the phone earlier, Mateo had told me to cut out early, and I closed the file, shutting down my laptop.
Maybe I would take him up on his offer. I could go home and see what changes had occurred today—see what my wife was up to.
My wife.
Rubliana.
Somehow, since we had exchanged vows, we had come to an unspoken truce. The things I always found annoying, no longer bothered me.
Maybe it was because I understood where they came from. Maybe I was more patient because she understood me.
Between our talks, Penny, yoga, paint chips, dinners and games, we had become . . . allies. Maybe even friends.
