Georgie snorted. “Stubborn architecture?”

But when Georgie woke up to a notification— Mandy has sent you a voice message —and played it to hear her whispering “Good morning, husband” in a sleepy, half-French accent, he decided that en ligne was just French for “in the lines.”

Georgie, who was never afraid of stupid, had replied: Send me the link.

“I do,” Georgie said, and he meant it more than anything he’d ever meant.

Mandy’s avatar was more detailed. She wore a flowing white dress that clipped awkwardly through her virtual ankles. Her real face, in a small window at the bottom of the screen, was bare and tired, but her eyes were electric.

“Shut up,” Mandy whispered, smiling. “You’re ruining it.”