Page 113 of Negotiating Tactics

“My ankles are so gross,” she said looking down at her feet.

“Your ankles are amazing,” I countered.

Other than a little bit of swelling, she wasn’t having many symptoms, something her doctor had said to expect that she got closer to the end of her second trimester.

Even her food aversions were gone, though I hadn’t been brave enough to suggest shrimp.

About an hour after she’d gotten home, I looked over at her.

“Are you up for a little trip?”

“Of course,” she said with a soft smile. “Where are we going?

“You’ll see,” I answered and then we walked to the car.

She looked around as we drove and soon smiled, as I had expected.

“I love this neighborhood,” she said.

I grumbled noncommittally, and then, after about two more blocks, turned into the driveway of the house.

“Noah, why are you stopping in these people’s driveway?” she asked.

“If by ‘these people,’ you mean us, I’m stopping here because it’s our driveway,” I said.

“You did not?—”

She cut off, and I got out and circled the car.

She was still looking at the house, a four-story traditional that had been completely renovated inside.

“I did,” I responded.

I guided her out of the car and tucked her arm under mine.

We walked up the stairs to the front porch, one that was wide enough to accommodate four or five and came complete with a swing.

“Let’s take the tour,” I said.

I unlocked the door and led her inside as she gaped.

“Noah, it’s beautiful!”

“I’m glad you think so, but you haven’t even seen it,” I said with a laugh. “Down that hall is an office—one for you, one for me—though I don’t anticipate working very much. I have a wife, a baby, and a house to look after, after all,” I said.

She laughed, then shook her head.

“Here’s the living room. And, of course, a separate dining room. With a door.”

“A dining room with a door!”

Alex had mentioned offhandedly that she had always thought dining rooms with doors were neat, so I made sure to have one included, overjoyed to indulge my wife in any way I could.

“And here’s the kitchen of your dreams,” I said, gesturing at the kitchen.

“Noah, I don’t dream about kitchens,” she said.

I laughed. “Then the kitchen of my dreams.”

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