Hugh exhaled a wisp into the brisk November air. He took a look around and after another moment flicked his long-extinguished cigarette butt into a shallow puddle, steeled himself, and turned to reenter the building. He had finished the smoke a couple of minutes ago, but wasn’t ready to face the laundromat again. It had been a challenging morning. When tempers threatened to flare on the topic of fabric softener, Hugh excused himself. Can’t argue if we’re not in the same room, he thought.

Elise was perched, legs crossed, on the best (i.e., largest, least in the way) table in the room. It was an effective, if somewhat unethical, strategy for securing the table for her own folding needs during the last 20 minutes of her dry cycle. She was reading some highbrow collection of short stories. Hugh knew she was genuinely engrossed, but also knew that the degree to which her facial expressions demonstrated this was an act, an extension of her laundry table land-grab. In Berkeley, one doesn’t disturb people reading Robinson. Especially not beautiful, waify nymphs apparently experiencing that transcendent prose for the first time. He loved this skill of hers: the way she got precisely what she wanted through subtle, thorough manipulation.

When she looked up and saw him watching her, she smiled, pleased with herself. Hugh never felt his heart beat as intensely as when she smiled at him.

“I got it, I got it,” she said with the singsong cadence of victory.

“I see that. Where’s the little Chinese lady? You must have hidden her body well, I didn’t notice her leave,” he said.

She looked up at him fiendishly. “I’ll never tell.” That smile again.

Hugh leaned down, offering a chaste kiss of reward, but she frowned at his approach. “I hate when you smoke during the daytime. It’s very nineties, you know.”

“The daylight part or smoking in general?” Hugh asked, his face still close to hers. She turned away, granting him access to only her cheek.

“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe in general. I’ll let you know when I decide.”

This morning they had already butted heads about hot sauce, lean proteins, Hugh’s sister’s boyfriend, Hugh’s sister, public education, and drones. The severity of each altercation varied in degree, but still. That’s a lot of arguing before 11:30 on a Sunday.